Turn Back Time
by knirbenrots
Summary: Ghosts from the past return, eleven years after an operation in Serbia. "Worked with some good people", Gibbs said. Callen nodded, thinking back of what happened all those years ago. "Yup. Made some good friends. Lost a few."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**~Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Ghosts from the past return, eleven years after an operation in Serbia.

"Worked with some good people", Gibbs said.  
Callen nodded, thinking back of what happened all those years ago. "Yup. Made some good friends. Lost a few."

* * *

Disclaimer: All credits for the great characters of NCIS-Los Angeles go to Shane Brennan, his writing team and CBS. Thank you for letting me use them!

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Despite the recent 'War against Terrorism', the CIA still was alert on what happened on other places of the planet.

Rumors had been going on about the possible assassination of the president of Serbia, Djindjic, since the end of 2002. This would ruin the only recent achieved stability in the Balkan.

It was the CIA who found out all about it; the CIA who even found out about a group of seventeen possible assassins, some of them from the former Special Operations Unit of Yugoslavia's secret police and some of them who nowadays had ties to the Serbian Mafia.  
However, the CIA did not have the right amount of people around to prevent any assassination plots.  
That was when they had requested the help of a NCIS senior agent, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, together with one of the agents who recently switched from the CIA to NCIS, a young agent called G. Callen. Both men mastered the language, both men were used to undercover work and both men were familiar to black ops.

In Belgrade, their contact would assist on getting the job done, if necessary together with a small group of locals.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Belgrade, Serbia || February 2003**

It had taken Rebel, their local contact, some weeks to make a list of members of a criminal gang that came together every other day.

"So… Geca, Jude…", Rebel looked at their faces, knowing both men did not use their own names in case they were to be betrayed. With black ops like these, agents were on their own and in mostly in no circumstance to contact their operations manager at all. Rebel continued "In some days, let's say six days max, I will be certain that this is the right group and that we won't miss any persons. Do not ask me how and please do not intervene. I will contact you whenever there is something to share."

"How?" Callen asked, both curious as suspicious, a quality that had saved his life several times already.

"Any preferences?" Rebel smirked. "I was thinking about an advertisement in the 'Beograd Kurir', unless you have other ways to communicate of course."

A blush crept up to his face, not knowing how to parry those words.

"It'll be alright," Gibbs told them. "How about 'wanted for a rebellious party – contact—ehm, what to add, an address or a phone number?"

Notwithstanding a swift reply - 'Novak Café, Bulevar Arsenija, one thirty in the afternoon' - it was Rebel's turn to blush right now.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Novak Café****, Belgrade, Serbia **

At two o'clock in the morning, Callen walked out of the café. The Lav Pivo during the surprisingly good night program had tasted well.

Now all he intended to do was wait in the shadows until the persons he thought he remembered from pictures he'd seen would leave the place as well. He hoped to pick up something from discussions, things he and Gibbs would be able to find out about the whereabouts of those on the list Rebel was going to complete.

Callen stood, waited and stayed unnoticed from the people who left the café. Meanwhile he picked up an address when three men mentioned when they ordered a taxi-driver to take them home.

He stretched a little and decided he should be on his way back to the place he and Gibbs stayed, a shabby pair of rooms with a nice but mothering and a little nosy old lady.

He carefully inched closer to the street side when he suddenly felt the cold blade of a knife against his neck. His skin turned cold and he held his breath.  
Then a voice softly hissed "Now I thought I made it clear that you were not to interfere with any of my business? So how come I find you in here, messing around?"

Callen slowly breathed out. Then he replied rather nonchalantly "Dobro je da te vidim zaista okolo" [It's good to see you around indeed].

Another voice came from the dark. "Reeza?"

"Da, ja ću biti sa vama uskoro. Razgovarao sam sa prijateljem " [Yes, I'll be with you soon. I was talking to a friend.] .The response came just as easy as Callen himself had switched language and tone.

In the blink of an eye, the knife was gone and so was Rebel.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"You're far too restless boy."

Gibbs had been observing the young agent for some time now. All in all he liked what he saw. During his time as a marine, Gibbs had worked with all kinds of men. Never before had he met someone with this much experience at such a young age - eager, curious and willing to take calculated risks.  
Someone who could let others believe he was who they thought he was. So far, Gibbs heard that G. Callen could be undercover longer than anyone he'd met so far.  
The CIA had gladly used this quality and it made Gibbs wonder why on earth the CIA had let this agent go. He made a mental note to himself to find out why NCIS had enlisted him instead of one of the other agencies.

"I'm not a boy," the younger man answered. "And I'm not restless. This… woodworkthing you're doing is making me nervous, y'know."

A half smile appeared on the older man's face. "Woodworkthing. So far, nobody ever called it a woodworkthing. Look, I've used my energy on carving all kinds of shapes. Meanwhile I let my mind go and my brains work."

"That's okay by me. Me and knives don't work, Gibbs. Doing my thinking differently I suppose."

Gibbs stopped what he was doing and showed Callen what he had been working on. "Now don't you tell me you cannot recognize what I've been working on."

Callen nodded and let his hands make the form of an hourglass, the perfect woman's figure. "I'm still looking". He then sent the other man a genuine and friendly smile as he retorted "Is there a reason we're not meeting in a bar right now?"

"Well, yeah, it's 10.00 in the morning." Gibbs responded matter-of-factly. "Besides, I think you visited 'a certain bar' the last few nights already."

"No reason not to go there right now. It's a nice place to go to, Jethro," Callen tried to win over right now. "Besides, they serve great coffee."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Of course they'd ended up in the place Callen had visited some times already.

"Tell me why we're in here, will you?" Gibbs asked.

"Told you, their coffee is great," Callen told. "And we can practice the language-thing even more." He sat in one of the corners, his back turned to the walls and facing both the entrance doors and the bar from where he sat.

There was no single moment Gibbs was able to read the younger man's face. No stress signs, no excitement. All appeared in control. Even the moment when Callen took a napkin and a pencil and scribbled some names on it felt natural and not forced.

Gibbs raised his brows as he looked up in the clear blue eyes of his co-worker. Their contact had mentioned this same place indeed, to meet whenever the time was right. But how did Callen manage to recognize the faces and names of those five men who either were around already or coming in right now?

Gibbs scanned the small group of men who were discussing something serious. Too far away to overhear.

Callen on the other hand leaned his chair against the wall, had it balancing on two legs, sipped his coffee and read his newspaper, all in a laid-back way. In Serbian, he said in a quiet voice "Like I said. There's more than coffee alone in here."

In a way, Gibbs understood that there must have been another reason for Callen to come to this place. However, he decided not to ask about it.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The advertisement appeared in the 'Beograd Kurir' only one day later and Gibbs and Callen met with Rebel in front of the same café around lunchtime.

"It's better to have lunch in a different place," Rebel stated.

Gibbs acknowledged "If we are going to plan things, this is not the best place indeed."  
The three of them wandered on the streets, cautious and continuous checking the other public and careful not to share any information in their own language. Finally they decided to take the tramway system and shared their information as discretely as possible.

"Geca already found out the whereabouts of eight hits," Gibbs mentioned casually.

"You did?" Rebel asked in surprise. "So you want to know about the other three?"

Callen nodded. "You bet. It should be easy. We can start from tonight on," he figured.

Rebel looked him straight in the eyes. "Depends on where you want to start. Just… avoid the café please. I don't know, I just feel like someone's watching the place."

He cocked his head and asked "Only the café or are they watching you as well?"

A single shrug came as an answer.

"We know about this address." Gibbs took a pen and pointed at the city map in the trolleybus.

This time, a short nod came from Rebel. "There should be four in there."

"How about the five from the café?" Callen wanted to know. "Can you lure them to another place?"

"Perhaps. You should try to get as many as possible within one working day."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

It was all about the distance. The further away, the easier it was to eliminate the ones who were threatening peace in Eastern Europe.  
Jethro Gibbs' qualities as a sniper were famous. Nevertheless, he needed Callen to be around. Together they managed to get rid of the first three domestic terrorists – although in a country that wasn't theirs.

"One of them wasn't around," Gibbs figured. He had contacted Rebel to discuss what to do next.

With a worried voice Rebel asked the oldest of both men "You checked?"

"I did," Callen stated. It hadn't been a pretty sight, but he had seen many deceased people in his young career already. "There weren't any more around."

Gibbs shook his head as he observed both younger people watching each other as if they both wanted to prove who was sharper. "We should stay alert. Now what we need to do now and do quickly is to find and make sure those five men won't visit your café any longer."

"Not my café, Jude," Rebel snapped. Then, after a short pause "It wasn't that difficult to find out. I—had myself invited with them when they visited a casino. I know where they feed themselves. I know how they travel, I've been around in a club, I know which shops they frequently visit. They all are creatures of habit. Daily routine hardly ever changes."

"So?" Callen cocked his head as he smirked.

A piece of paper and a rather offended glance came his way. "So this is about it, Geca. I don't need to know how or when you two decide to hit. As Iong as you do it soon."

This time he sent their contact an appreciative look. "Thanks." And softer, he added "For all."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Creatures of habit should be easy targets indeed. In a city where bomb attacks happened every now and then, both men planned a fake bombing near the club Rebel had mentioned. The cheap car Callen had bought, was bomb-wired by Gibbs – another skill he mastered. Rebel had given them the brands and number plates of the cars the men owned. There were only two free spaces on the parking lot when the hideous brown Opel Vectra arrived and it was parked immediately on the right of the old and cheap Mercedes – Callen's.

Making sure there weren't any other people around, Callen pressed the button of the remote control and the car – with its passengers, was destroyed completely.  
In relief, Gibbs nodded to his younger partner. "What's done, 's done," he concluded. Together with many others he left the car and stood on the road, doing his utmost to watch the scene in awe.

When a car drove off with screeching tires he quickly turned around, only to see how Callen followed the other car.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Belgrade || ulica Vojvode Stepe**

Although he realized it was risky, this was the only place in town he knew he could find and where he'd be safe. Besides, Callen knew their informant would know how to contact Gibbs.

He leant against the cool wall of the elevator which brought him up to the third floor of the dull apartment building he visited before.

Instead of the usual knock he nearly felt his whole body collapse against the door.

"Geca! Geez..." Strong arms managed to guide him inside where Callen gratefully sank down on the floor, his back against the wall. "What happened?"

"Got shot. Pav-Pavlovic," he gasped. "Call Jude."

He probably passed out. Next thing Callen was aware of was the intense darkness in the bedroom he stayed in right now. His breathing probably changed as he heard Rebel ask "Hey. How're feeling?"

Tight bandages around his shoulder, a dull and deep pain. No cutting pain anymore - the result of drugs, he realized as with the groggy feeling nausea set in.

"Sick", he mumbled. "Thanks, though."

"You shouldn't have come. It's not safe, not anymore. I've called your buddy Jude, asked if he can come and take you with him this morning. Really, the two of you need to leave town, get out of the country as soon as possible."

Part of the sentence simply never reached his brain as their contact, Rebel, noticed that the man whose codename was Geca, had fainted again. Which was, in his current condition, probably best.

Next time he woke up it was from a feverish dream, hours later.  
This time it was Gibbs who was sitting next to him. Despite his fever Callen read the worry in Gibbs's eyes, so peculiar and so unlike the usual stoic facial expression of the older agent..

"How about this new rule - If it seems like someone is out to get you, they are."

His weary mind heard but could not process the meaning of the words as Callen's world went back to black again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Despite all efforts, Zoran Djindjic was killed only two weeks later, when Gibbs and Callen had finally returned safely back in Washington.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Venice Beach, Los Angeles, 5 years later**

"I don't like our chances. Kind of like that first op in Serbia. You saved my ass on that one."

They were quiet for a while, watching the waves come and go. "Worked with some good people", Gibbs then said.  
He nodded, thinking back of what happened all those years ago and swallowed some times, before he said. "Yup. Made some good friends. Lost a few."

In fact, although the memories of what really happened had faded by now, there were images that kept haunting his dreams every now and then.

In his dreams, Callen heard the screams he never heard in real life. And after all those years, guilt was hunting him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner  
Sometimes I feel like my only friend  
It's the city I live in, the City of Angels  
Lonely as I am, together we cry

I drive on her streets 'cause she's my companion  
I walk through her hills cause she knows who I am  
She sees my good deeds and she kisses me windy  
I never worry, now that is a lie

I dont ever wanna feel like I did that day  
Take me to the place I love, take me all the way  
I dont ever wanna feel like I did that day  
Take me to the place I love, take me all the way  
Yeah, yeah, yeah

It's hard to believe that there's nobody out there  
It's hard believe that I'm all alone  
At least I have her love the city, she loves me  
Lonely as I am, together we cry

Red Hot Chili Peppers ~ City Of Angels Lyrics

* * *

_Thank you for reading. As ever - feel free to comment. Your reviews are very welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Thank you for leaving your reviews on the first chapter. They're so welcome.

* * *

_September 2014_

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

The two of them had a 5 miles run and had returned to the challenger that was parked in front of the boathouse. "Great weather for a run, wasn't it?" Callen challenged his partner who usually suffered more from the heat.

A dangerously short huff was sent his way, followed by "It's a bad weather for the leather seats, buddy. Next time I'll have you sit on garbage bags. I don't like that sweat you're spreading around, y' know?"

Callen smirked as he quickly responded "An empty garbage bag I suppose. You're far too scared of the bugs and bacteria, germs that might attack you, remember? I bet it's Michelle who's taking care of the garbage in the Hanna-household, right?"

Sam was quiet for a while, then he retorted. "At least I have a nice wife who'll understand every little doubt I have. Which I cannot see you're having or doing, G."

"Ah. C'mon big guy. Don't I always have your back? And you know what? Once Michelle is getting tired of the garbage-thing, you can always ask me."

"Really?" Sam glanced at his partner, sending him a devilish grin. "You'd better try and find a nice wife and do the 'garbage-thing' at home, with her. Talking about fears, I'd say yours are worse than mine. Commitment, G. It's all about daring and facing your fears."

"Y'think I'm afraid? Not true. You know, I know the drill. Have been married too, told you."

"Humor me, Callen! Married as in, what? Besides, you told all of us that it was purely a cover-op, being married to Tracy Rosetti."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But I did live with her and managed to deal with all her whims. And there was Kristin." He quietly leaned back in the car-seat, his head against the cool window.

"Nothing to add now?" Sam teased. "Like why you decided to live by one of that stupid Gibbs rules?"

Callen turned to his partner, raised his brow and said "Which one? Number 15, Always remember to work as a team? C'mon, you know I'm always doing that?"

"Unless you're going lone wolf," Sam grinned. "You know better than that partner. The other one, about 'Never get personally involved in a case'. Or the one you mentioned before. 'Never date a co-worker'. As if Michelle and I aren't the best example of how wrong Gibbs was on that one".

"Never mind Gibbs and rules," Callen muttered. "I think I know what's best for me. Which means I can pick my own women and don't need any more blind dates. Right?"  
He reluctantly closed his eyes and tried to ignore his partner's talking right now, despite the fact he knew it was he himself who started this silly discussion.  
Luckily the drive didn't last that much longer as Sam managed to pick one of the closest parking spaces to park his Challenger.

"Man, I desperately need a shower," Callen stated.

"Tell me. You're smelling like—" Sam replied, but his partner interrupted. "Baby powder, huh?"  
Callen rapidly got out of the car, hearing Sam say something about cold showers. The large senior agent shook his head as he followed the lead agent. 'A shame', Sam thought, knowing that Callen would simply reject any other set ups he'd plan. Lying to a woman about his real identity had stopped him from seeing Joelle. Well. The guy was old and wise enough.  
Sam sighed, took a fresh set of clothes from his locker and headed for the shower.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The two of them were in first – they mostly were - and managed to do some paperwork until Deeks and Kensi came in, bantering as ever, this time about knives and how dangerous they were.  
Nonchalantly, Sam said "However, never screw rule number nine."

"What?" Kensi and Deeks asked in unison.

"Rule number nine. You know – never go anywhere without a knife."

A chuckle came from the desk opposite of his. "When was it you learned Gibbs' rules by heart, Sam?"  
A broad smile appeared on Sam's face, causing a dimple in his cheek. "Found a print on your desk last Tuesday and was surprised about it."  
Before anyone could react, Eric came running downstairs, cleared his throat and told "Your appearance in Ops is required."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

With Hetty gone to Washington, Owen Granger was the one 'to row the boat'. It was different. Not definitely difficult, but different.

The team had gotten used to his presence.  
Kensi really appreciated working with him – probably because of the time the two of them spent in Afghanistan months before.  
Although never spoken of and although Granger mastered the art to keep his face unreadable, nearly annoyed, it was clear that he accepted the continuous babble of Deeks. Perhaps he almost liked the way the young detective managed to humor even the saddest situations. Heck, the two of them even had worked as partners and they both came out with a kind of smile.  
Strangest thing was the fact that Sam, who had always been protective of the small and little lady, was perfectly at ease working with him - Owen Granger - as the temporary operations manager.  
Eric no longer had any problems with agreeing to what the assistant director suggested, unless it were comments on his way of clothing.

Nell on the other hand had become less self-assured, quieter too, now the older lady who had been her role-model was gone. Where Hetty simply trusted the young woman and shared some secrets so far, it was as if she were a silly school girl again who had to prove her capabilities to the teacher.

Then there was Callen. G. Callen. Having trust issues everywhere, with everyone. Except with his own team and most certainly NOT with Hetty. Despite the fact Callen could keep up with a normal man-to-man conversation, so far, there had been little love towards the assistant director or the other way around.

The team was positioned around the large table at ops like they always were. Leaning against the table and using it as a backing and his arms folded in front of his chest, Callen asked "So, what have you got, Eric, Nell?"

The answer did not come from one of the technical analysts as it was Owen Granger himself who started to explain. "Homeland Security warned the other agencies about the fact that with some different flights, several people from the former Yugoslavia – countries like Bosnia and Serbia, entered our country. To be more specific, Los Angeles."

"So?" Deeks wanted to know. "Homeland never warns us when hoards of Japanese leave the planes to visit our city."

Although Sam knew his partner could keep his face unreadable, he had also learned to look for the slightest change of expression. And this was far more than that. From what Sam noticed, the agent in charge was shocked by something he saw. "Looks like you've seen a ghost," he said, careful not to ask or add more.

One blink of the eye was all Callen needed to keep his face and voice completely in control again. "Nah, ghosts don't exist," he mumbled. No way he was going to share any of the turmoil of what he just felt.  
"Need to make a phone-call, will be back," he added.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Your review is welcome, as ever!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Yes, there was a delay in posting this chapter - pure for personal reasons: I was away on holiday! Thank you for your patience…

* * *

"What happened, what did hé notice and we did not?" Kensi asked, addressing no one in particular.

"Well, Callen did ignore the Japanese joke. Which is peculiar in a way indeed," Deeks mentioned.

"Shouldn't you check, Sam?" Nell thought, worried.

Standing next to Eric, Granger looked at the team, nearly in despair. He once again cleared his throat and then exclaimed in his usual nasal voice "For God's sake will you all stop talking and just listen!?"

Surprised at his outburst they were quiet soon enough. It was Eric who then spoke "As you were saying, Sir, there were small groups of inhabitants from the Balkan entering LA, which is-what?"

The brown eyes of the assistant director stared piercing at the young technical worker and he said in a rather cynical way "Well, Beale, any ideas?"

Eric tried to deny the warm feeling which proved he was blushing and stammered as he continued "Ehm, well I ehm... You suspect them to, ehm, do something which involves our work. Right? Or they already committed a crime. No, I would know. We would know. And you know-what?"  
He realized he was back to what he had asked in the first place. "So, would you please explain, assistant director?"

While Eric was talking, Nell had been using her tablet and swiftly selected the names on the passenger lists that sounded or looked Slavic in her opinion. She then opted for letting two systems working simultaneously - one scanning criminal records with the names and one scanning names and connecting pictures to them. "Do you think I have them all covered Sir?" she asked.

Again, Owen Granger sighed deeply before he said "Let me explain first. Yes, Beale, SecNav informed us about a series of crimes committed by a group of LA mobsters. They managed to breach the systems of Harry Larsson's security systems."

"HL's?" Eric asked, his voice raising all of a sudden. "Stu, a friend of mine, was employed there for a few months. This guy, Larsson, hires all kind of former navy and army people. They work for private clients mostly, preferably abroad."

Granger nodded. "That's what they do indeed. Getting stuff into our country against conditions that apparently are at great importance since they're superbly secured. Until early last week. Former petty officer Jeff Seriakes was brutally killed right after he was about to go home."  
He sent a small nod to Nell who tapped a button on the handheld computer. When she looked at the screen herself she felt a wave of nausea rising. Next to the ID-card of a rather young and good looking man, his black hair trimmed short, another picture appeared. The same man, his throat deeply cut. In a pool of blood his glassy eyes stared up, seeing nothing anymore. The last thing he'd seen was the one who killed him.

"That's how they do it." Callen had re-entered the Ops-center and recognized the way this man's head was nearly separated from his torso by a slice of a long and sharp knife.

Granger looked up, gave him a curt nod and continued. "From the way this murder was commited I'd say it was done by someone from Bosnia indeed. Seen it-" he paused and then said "Anyway, Seriakes' pass and network connections were used twice last week, still for importing issues. Homeland isn't too sure what it was that was brought in, but it's definitely something that does attract those others to come to our town."

"And you want us to find out more?" Kensi asked.

Granger nodded. "SecNav specifically asked for your team. Even more specific-" he drew in his breath deeply but did not need to finish his sentence as Callen did it for him "SecNev knows my file, right?"  
Without any further explanation, the lead agent turned to Nell and simply asked her to send him the list of names HS and she found of people entering the country.

"How about the two of you go check out on this specific guy and get him of the street as long as you can, will you?" he addressed Kensi and Deeks. He licked his lips and then said "He shot me once and will probably recognize me."  
He pointed at a picture that went with the name Pavlovic.

Granger simply nodded at the way Callen briefed the team.

"How 'bout us, G?" Sam asked, though he vaguely sensed that what it that was coming - he would not like it at all.

"I'm trusting you to have my back," was the reply Sam Hanna indeed did not want to hear.  
"I'm going in".

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Wait, agent Hanna."  
The way Owen Granger merely ordered Sam to turn his attention to him instead of following his partner was new to Sam.

"You know I don't like the way this is going," Sam mentioned.

"You don't have to like it," Granger responded, "but you and I know Callen is best at deep covers. He knows the language. Him going in there may be the only way to delay or, if possible, stop these mobsters."

"They're called 'Zurcin' here in town." Callen stood behind them, waiting for Sam to come with him so he could explain.

Granger spun around, surprised by the fact the agent in charge still was there.

"Don't you need to prepare, Callen?"

The question came as a sort of order as well, but as mostly, Callen chose to ignore the stare and the question and simply sent the assistant director a smug smile. "No need to," he responded. "As long as Nell keeps up the good job and keeps sending pictures and names my way. No matter SecNav's great ideas, I really need to see the faces of the group I'm gonna mix with."  
He then turned to head downstairs to his desk where the bright red laptop was already booted up.

"Callen? By the way, who did you call?" Granger asked in a sharp voice.

He looked up from halfway the stairs. "Not that important," he smirked. "Besides, I think you told me to prepare, so if you don't mind?"  
He trotted down the last few steps, took a fresh cup of coffee and sat down at his desk.  
Some minutes later, Sam took his seat at the desk opposite of his. Since his large partner simply stared at him without speaking, Callen raised his brow and glanced back at Sam.  
"Anything you want to share, buddy?" he asked.

Another annoyed glare came his way. "Who's asking ?"

Callen shrugged and turned back to his screen. He concentrated on what he read and let his fingers go over the keyboard of his laptop. He then looked up and said "I've forwarded you some intel about those guys, Sam. Just-read. I need to get back to Ops, ask if Nell can provide me with the right name, numbers and back-up."

"G..."

"Please, just read. We'll talk about it later."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

With Eric on a coffee break, talking about his friend at Harry Larsson with Granger and Sam, Callen joined Nell in Ops. He slumped his body in Eric's chair, swiveling it in a way that relaxed him.  
It made Nell nervous though, not used to this behavior of the lead agent. "So, Callen... You ehm, you know these guys?"

His face was serious, despite the boyish way he looked now he sat in there. "Some of them. Thought we nearly got them all-"

"We?" She interrupted, her voice an octave higher now.

He shrugged now. "Ages ago, Nell. I was there. Not important in fact. What is, is that I recognized someone that should still be imprisoned."

Nell filled in his thoughts. "Pavlovic, who shot you. Y'think Deeks and Kensi will find him?"

His ocean blue eyes rested at the young analysts excited face. "They should. You and Eric can help, right?" he persisted.

"You know we will, Callen. Did Granger tell you he wants Eric posted at HL's? You see, Granger suggested Eric can hack back at the system that was breached."

Callen shook his head. "You're supposed to work in a team. We all are. Fact is that Sam cannot join me. Language thing, y'know. But I rely on him to stay close, as ever."  
Nell cocked her head and he could practically see her thinking. "Listen, Nell, I get it. Granger thinks differently. It's not that I know better, it's just... Don't have to like it, do we?" He then gently touched her shoulder and said "She'll be back, Nell. She will."

A deep sigh came his way. "Right. So, back to business." She tapped the mouse pad of her handheld computer and the screen forwarded to a new one. "Yoran Krajic, born on March 21, 1970, back in Beograd. Lived in Chicago from 2005 on. Your ID and driver license should be ready in twenty," she summarized. "Will have bugs and button cams ready by then too, and please do keep your phone to yourself so we can keep you traced with its GPS."

He sent her grateful smile. "Thanks Nell. I'd better calm down Sam now, read some more files and backgrounds and concentrate on being Yoran".  
Again he went down the stairs where Granger was instructing the team members on their tasks. Overhearing it, Callen couldn't help himself interfering. "Shouldn't we work in teams like we're used to? Maybe Sam and Eric should stick together as well?"

A glare of disagreement came from Granger. "Let me take care of the rest of the team, agent Callen, while you keep concentrating on your job."

He supposed the older man knew how to run an operation indeed. Different, much different from what the team was used to though.

* * *

_**Thank you for leaving your review, I appreciate them very much!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

**Disclaimer:**Inspired as ever by the mystery man called G. Callen. Thank you, Shane Brennan and CBS, for that fact. Before any more love stories are made up in season 6, I'd like to use my own imagination. Hope you won't mind!

* * *

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

Yoran Krajic never applied for a job. He simply was enlisted.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He, Callen, had taken an older Mercedes from the parking garage that belonged to NCIS. Just as well as Henrietta Lange had always believed in the right clothes for a cover job, she had a wide range of cars fit for the job as well. New and fancy ones, but used, undefined and unnoticeable cars as well.

Callen simply drove to the place he and Nell found out many of the new men from Europe went - a club called Mostar, situated in South Hill Street - and stepped in.  
Ran his eyes over the place. Observed. Immediately understood who was who. Ignored the curious looks that were sent his way. Turned to one of the bars and ordered a Slivovic instead of one of the beers he preferred in fact, and took it like he knew he should, all in one swallow.

Some of the visitors softly sang along with 'Lane Moje', the song he had heard many times when he had recovered and was back in the US. The song obviously sounded much better when the singer sang it on her own.  
Slivovic did that to grown-up men, Callen figured. Especially when they missed their home country.  
In a strange way he did feel sorry for them and with a slight pang of sadness he realized he did not have any of those memories.  
He wished his own past would have given him more happiness. One day, things might change for the good.

All in all, it took exactly half an hour until someone addressed him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

_-"How on earth does he do that?"_ Sam heard Nell ask, immediately followed by a matter-of-fact reply from Granger _-"It's in his nature, Jones. You cannot train it. On the contrary, if Callen had not needed to adjust to so many different and difficult situations in his problematic youth, he would not be able to act as the chameleon he is nowadays."_

Near to the club 'Mostar', Sam's face lit up by the words of the Assistant Director.  
While Callen still had trouble working with Granger, there obviously was far more trust the other way around.  
He responded "Although I hate it that you used that name, Owen, you forget to mention it is in his blood as well."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

Yoran Krajic leaned against the bar, completely dressed in black.  
A black button-down shirt, black jeans and his favorite Blundstone boots - the Australian ones Hetty found for the team. His - now temporary green -eyes stoically watched a corner in which some men in expensive looking suits appeared to do some business deals. Too far away to hear what it was about.  
Callen knew that Kensi could read their lips, but then again there was the language-thing - not English, Spanish or Portuguese, which meant she'd not cover it either.

"I have to ask if you want a job, mister."  
A short but strong built man had positioned himself in front of the lead agent. The man, early fifty Callen assumed, was tanned - his face looked nearly like leather. He was dressed in a green, too tight shirt and a neat pair of trousers.

"A job?" He raised his brows and smirked in a way he knew that looked nearly arrogant.

The other man nodded to the company Callen had observed only moments ago. "Misja asks."

He squinted his eyes. "What business?" he wanted to know.

"Is it a yes or a no?" The other man asked.

"I'd like to speak to that Misja mister myself," he stated.

"That would be mister Gavralovic to you, mister," the other man mentioned, nearly admiringly.

Callen nodded. "Then tell your mister Gavralovic that Yoran Krajic would appreciate a face-to-face conversation about that offer," he said. Sure, it was risky. What if they'd backed off? It was the first, and a great opportunity too to get closer into the organization he, and his team and SecNav, wanted to know more of.  
"What kind of business are we talking about?" he asked again.

"Stay around. Some other members of Misja's team will show you later on. You look strong and clever enough to work with them."

Again, he nodded as a response.

"Make sure you won't be drunk." The other man indicated the small glass Callen had just emptied. "We will be needing you sober."

"Right. Sober. Nema problema."  
As his companion for the last few minutes turned around and Callen was alone, his lips slightly twitched as he realized Nell and Eric would frantically type in google translate or whatever professional translating programs if he'd start talking Serbian all night. Hetty would understand every single word he'd say – but she wasn't around.  
As for Granger, Callen would love to tease the man by having to wait for translations. If it wasn't for a serious matter and if it wasn't that Callen knew Sam would freak if he wasn't informed about what was going on in real time, he'd consider switching languages.  
So far, the crowd in here was bilingual as well, he heard both languages. And this assistant of Misja Gavralovic had addressed him in English.  
And Callen had been sure he had mentioned both the first and last name of the man who probably ran this place, so back in Ops Nell could check on the guy.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"Anything popping up with this Gavralovic?"  
Granger surprised the small information analyst by standing close behind her. In fact, nearly like Hetty always managed to surprise them by her stealthy way of moving through the building.

"Uhm… Well. No. Yes. But no, nothing suspicious so far. Misja, or Michael Darko Gavralovic, entered the United States on November 20th, 2006. He worked hard in a pizzeria at first, became the owner in 2010 and in 2012, he bought 'Mostar', which was called 'Club Star' at that time. So, that is about it," she summarized.

"Any connections to the persons who've entered our country only recently?"

She stopped some of the searches she let the expensive systems most agencies worked with go through automatically, bit her lower lip as she scanned the results so far and shook her head. "Nope."  
She swiveled her chair so she faced the assistant director directly. "That other man who addressed Callen, the one we've heard, has been identified as Victor Malic. He showed up in New York first in 2004. Went back to Europe, address unknown so far, and returned to the States late October 2013. To be more exact, one full day before Dragomir Pavlovic flew in as well. They both landed on LAX."

Granger stared at the large screen, which showed nothing at that moment. "Sir?"

"Sure there are no connections, Jones?" he asked again. He seemed slightly distracted from what she had just told him, Nell thought. Which was odd, since Owen Granger never appeared distracted. On the contrary, he mostly worked his way through cases without too many sentences, trusting the team to solve what needed to be solved.  
"As I said, nothing I could find so far. Neither do the systems, so far. I will—I'll keep them going through the names if you want to, Sir," she said.

He nodded, his attention now back to what she'd said. "Those lists Callen asked you about, could you send them over to my account as well?"

"You don't trust Callen to do his job thoroughly enough?" The question itself surprised her. Granger had never questioned Callen's way of working, commented it, yes, but doubting? Never.

His lips quirked in an uncommon quick smile that came her way. "Jones… If I would distrust the way an agent in charge works, he – or she – would not be in charge any longer. This has nothing to do with Callen's way of handling this case."  
He left the Ops center without giving her any further explanations.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

He'd switched to some water and a casual beer, still observing. And waiting. Anticipating, although he still couldn't figure out what it would be what was to come.  
Sam would be around. If necessary, Sam would strike in and have his back – he simply knew.

Yoran Krajic checked his watch – most clubs in town would close at two, half an hour to go. Nell would be yawning by now if she was still around. Michelle might hate this case if Sam would have to work those manic hours every day.  
As for Kensi and Deeks, he hoped they already traced Pavlovic and got him off the street, although, after so many years, that guy might not expect him to be in LA as well.  
Eric would have returned home hours ago, unless Granger had ordered him to be back at Ops instead. Granger himself… well, Callen never really got into closer contact and he had no clue what he was doing by now.

The singer had left over an hour ago already and he did not like what was played since then.

He sighed, trying not to look impatient. Another visit to the gents to kill some time should work.  
They'd been missing him, those few minutes.  
Callen noticed by the relief he saw on the older man's face when he came back. As if they needed him, and would be more than disappointed if he would have left after all.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**One street from there || Challenger**

At this time of night even Sam got tired of the jazz music that did not correspond with the pouring rain on his car. He switched to another radio station. Some rap songs sounded and he easily hummed with them.  
With one more tootsie pop wrapper, his fingers automatically did what they usually did and a lily was the result this time.  
There was no comment from his partner. In fact, he had not heard Callen talking for the last few hours.  
All the background noises were bold and he needed to stay focused, not knowing what to expect and if there was any useful thing to do.

He yawned, wishing he'd be home by now instead of taking care that his partner, who definitely thought he was indestructible every now and then, could safely find a bed in the shabby motel Nell had booked for him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

The four massive bouncers had entered and ordered the few visitors left to pay for their drinks and leave. How they got the message, he did not know, but they never contacted him.

The door were finally closed from the inside. Callen, now completely in Yoran Krajic' role, was asked to join some others. He looked around. Five men like himself – looking up and not knowing what to expect. He made sure he got the right angle to get Nell and Eric go check on them as soon as they could.  
Gavralovic was nowhere to be seen but the man who had addressed him in the first place now took the lead.

"Your task will be to help unload the special delivery Vlad and his men will lead you to." He gestured to the oldest of the bouncers. "If Vlad is satisfied with your work, you can return the same time next week. He'll pay you for the job that's done," he politely smiled.

"What'll be the delivery?" Yoran asked, eager to let his team finally hear something useful.

The simple answer did not satisfy him at all. "You'll notice once you get there."

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

Toting crates from a warehouse near the airport to a lorry in the pouring rain and unloading it to Club Mostar certainly was not what Callen had thought the highly secret job would be. From what he quickly noticed was that the crates contained nothing more than glasswork that went with the different kinds of delicious beers that Mostar sold.  
The physical work was more than he was used to, especially at this time of night and it broke his back. All he could think of after two hours of hard work was to lay his body down, even if it were in a motel that had seen better days even before the eighties. He refused to think about what might have happened on the mattress he rested on. No way he was going to repeat this kind of night work.

From what he had experienced, nothing fishy went on in Gavralovic' club.  
The simple fact that it was 4.45 in the morning withheld him to call Granger and telling him this cover was useless in his opinion.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

Callen never made the call. He simply decided to go back to the office, after – of course – taking care that nobody was able to tail him. Somewhere halfway town he switched the Mercedes to an unnoticeable newer grey Toyota and it took him over an hour to finally get where he wanted to be.  
His paranoid way of working his way through town might shock some of his co-workers, but it had so far been okay for Callen.

Eric Beale was back in the office as well. He, however, had called Granger first thing in the morning who then decided it would be best that he'd come in to inform the others himself. Working at the computer systems at HL headquarters had been okay, but there had not been anymore he could do in there that he could do from the mainframe at the operation center of NCIS. Preferably with his partner.  
Granger allowed him to come back, so here he was.  
"So I think maybe this security breach of their system is been done with the common access card of this officer Seriakes. But I have some serious doubts about the why. We, Nell and I, might be able to find out today what happened the past few days with it. What is more, there are some guys around there who act suspiciously if you'd ask me."

Granger cocked his head slightly then asked "What do you mean, Beale, by suspiciously?"

For some seconds Eric chewed the inside of his cheeks, shoved up his glasses once again and decided how to answer. "They avoided me. Changed passwords twice a day. As if that matters," he nervously smiled. "Anyway, they kept the systems running with some queries only, which involved lists of enlisted officers in the army between 2000 and 2005."

"Would it be so that Harry Larsson is going to employ new people, you think, Eric?" Kensi asked. "That would explain, wouldn't it?"

The young tech shrugged a little.

"That would be against the rules of fair and equal treatment in personnel employment and occupation and against the right to democracy. Like when Granger here would decide to hire only blondes younger than 30,"Deeks remarked with a grin. Noting the not-amused expression on the assistant director's face, he completely turned to Kensi. "Or, if I was in charge I would contract only, tall handsome dark-haired female agents, let's say aged between 30 and 35," he added, knowing his partner would hate reacting in public. Her revenge would come later.

Granger took over the babble, knowing he was not offending the detective at all. "Beale, names of the men you suspect? Any connections to be made with this breach and the, how shall we call it, the Slavic part of this case?"

Eric shook his head. "Nothing I could find so far. And yes, I got their names. Of course I do." He sounded nearly offended. "Schofield, Andrew and Greer, Kevin Peter."  
When he mentioned those names, pictures of them appeared on the large screen as well.

"How long were they employed themselves at Harry Larson's did you say?"  
The automatic doors were opened when Callen had entered the Ops center, still yawning and tired after a too short night.  
From what he saw, Sam wasn't of any better at all. Biggest difference was that he had returned to his own place and must have fallen asleep with his own wife.

Nell quickly tapped some new commands at her handheld computer and the info's Callen had asked for were added on the large screen right the moment she mentioned it.  
"Andrew Schofield is one of the veterans of the office – he was enlisted in the first year of HL's existence. Married, two grown up children. First career in the green team on the aircraft carrier USS Harry Truman. Then there's Kevin Peter Greer. He's been around since—let's see, second half of 2012. Greer was divorced from his wife last year, no kids. Harry Larson enlisted him after a rather abrupt ending of his military career. Something went wrong using computer systems at San Diego. Now we need to find out whát that was."

There was the scraping of his throat before Granger managed a short "Hmm" only.

"You mean you dó not want us to find out?" Nell asked in a small voice.

"What I mean, Jones, is that it doesn't appear to be that important. Sure, you and Beale can dig into that matter, but only after other tasks are finished."

Callen shook his head. "You might be more specific, Granger. What if—"  
He was simply interrupted. "It would be better if you'd focus on your own part in this case, Callen. From what I understood last night is that your presence is required for a next assignment.

Wiggling his jaw, then clenched it, annoyed as he was about these words in front of his team, Callen sent Granger an icy glare. He managed to keep his tone even as he said "No way I'll have to stay around all week in there, you think? I think that I can show up in there if necessary and only every now and then. Meanwhile, I'm sure I could do better things in here."  
He turned and left Ops, making sure he followed rule and closed the automatic sliding doors once outside.

There was a short pause between the others around, then Granger stoically continued. "Deeks, Blye, any luck so far with Pavlovic?"

"Ah, Drago, our man. Well ehm. We're supposed to pick him up this morning. You see, Kenselina here traced him to a certain location last night but she got very reluctant when I encouraged her to go and check on him." Deeks tried to explain.

"I wasn't going in—go in there!" Kensi looked in awe at her partner. She then faced the temporary Operation Manager. "Not going in a whorehouse. No way. What if—No, no way. Pavlovic will be home this morning, definitely. We'll be on our way, unless you'll be wanting us to do something else first?"

Granger shook his head. "Go ahead, please, will you? Meanwhile, Beale and Jones, could you check the backgrounds of the people Callen managed to catch on camera last night?" He then looked at Sam. "Once you've finished another coffee, Hanna, you and I could go through some of the lists of names Nell sent over to Callen and me."

Sam smiled. "Could use some coffee indeed. I'm not the only one around who does, I believe?"  
He trotted down the stairs, expecting to discuss last night's work with his partner. Still, in a way, he was not very surprised Callen was not around. What he did find, was a note on his own desk in the all too recognizable scratchy handwriting 'Got a call. Will be around. Later!'

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Over an hour trying to keep his eyes going over the names on a list, Sam finally addressed Granger "You really think Callen should work his way in that club? From what I understood last night, they simply needed some extra and cheap hands. Which, in my opinion, has nothing to do with Callen's past, whatever operation this might refer to."

Granger slowly cocked his head, as if he wasn't too sure himself what to answer. He then started fiddling the collar of his shirt and said "You know, it's a funny thing about being undercover. Some people think it's a skill that can be taught like anything else. But the best have a God-given gift that goes way beyond taking another cover. They simply are who they say they are. And your partner has that certain gift, as I am well aware of. So do you, Hanna. I am sure there's more going on in that club than one single night might show us. Gut feeling, Hanna."

"I should have his back, you know." Sam leaned back in his chair, done with the paperwork. His gut feeling was different. The way Granger had ignored and overruled Callen's comment was simply not how his partner liked to be addressed. Knowing Callen, like Sam believed he did just a little, the agent in charge might have decided to simply stay away.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Far past lunchtime, Deeks and Kensi had shown up again, leaving Dragomir Pavlovic in the save captivity of the boat house, as planned until this case would be solved.

Callen had not returned yet. Neither had he answered the message Sam left on his work-related cell phone. Exactly what Sam expected. He was about to go out and see if Callen had left and went home, or if he could find the Mercedes was parked somewhere near the club, when Eric looked down from the balcony and simply whistled. Although Granger had told him months ago not to do so, it was accepted since it appeared to be the best way to alert the team.

Once they all were up, Eric started talking frantically. "I know now what they did. Greer and Shofield, I mean. Crap. I should have seen it once I was around. They let Carbon software tools work their way through all kind of government systems. They knew how to do it."

Nell took over, excited more than she preferred to show. "Carbon with Zagruchick?"

"Mind your language, Nell Jones." Deeks mumbled, not understanding a single thing the technical operator and intelligence analyst had mentioned.

She noticed how the others, like Deeks, were waiting for more. Something that they would understand, so she explained better. "Once a personal computer is compromised, Zagruchick or Epic Turla, another hack, analyzes machines in the same network or connected through any other files, to see if it has data of interest. If so, Epic Turla distributes more Carbon components to further study the machines. It is easy to copy the information one needs from the main frames once you're there."

Eric sighed. "As I said, not only did they use lists of the army personnel. They even managed to go through other federal records, such as Military health and medical records of discharged and deceased veterans, retirees and military family members treated at military service medical facilities."

"Did you manage to find out anything their systems were looking for, except for the years?" Granger now asked.

"Uh-huh." Eric said. "Encrypted, so it seems. Only a bunch of characters we haven't managed to find out more about." He used his keyboard to copy the characters and pasted them on the large screen.  
R.E.E.Z.A.G.E.C.A.J.U.D.E.

"Jews? Jude, that's German for Jews," Kensi recognized.

"Focus on this, Beale. Something tells me it might be more important than any of the other lists we've found so far," Granger mentioned.

"Looks like a giant puzzle. The ones one might solve on a rainy Sunday morning. Or like we did when we were kids, trying to make up secret language," Kensi mentioned with a smile.

"Like BOGGLE, you mean. Trying to make as many new words with the characters we have. Wow, Eric, your job is great. You think we could switch, for once?" Deeks sounded enthusiastic as he started "care – dare – aged".

Assistant Director Owen Granger shook his head. "Cut it out, Deeks. Let the systems do their jobs, like you should do yours."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Los Angeles || Club Mostar**

Although Callen had not recognized the name at first, it was the voice that sounded familiar. Victor Malic had called at the extra cell phone Nell had given him. "We were satisfied with the job you did last night. In fact, we're wondering if there are some other—how shall I mention, some other chores to be done, can be discussed? You can come by any moment."

Wondering if there was a chance in contacting Sam or Granger soon, Callen now faced Malic and Vlad, the large bouncer who had accompanied him the previous night.  
True - exactly like Granger already figured out, there was more going on in here than he felt one day earlier.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Thoughts, reviews ánd more are very welcome, as ever :-)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

_Disclaimer_: _As you all know, none of all the characters that appear in this story belong to me, except for one. The NCIS Los Angeles characters are all a result of the creative mind of Shane Brennan and great his writing team._

* * *

What else did he know about these two guys? Nothing, in fact. But Callen trusted that his team would've found out more about Malic and Vlad already. The first thing he would do once alone, was to call in and have Nell send him all that was necessary to know. For now, he'd go with everything those two men were asking.

"Let's discuss this new assignment we have in mind for you over dinner," Malic told him. "There's this small Italian restaurant I know, Al Angelo, where you might feel… more relaxed to listen to what we're talking about. It's a good thing not to be in the place you work all the time."

He, Yoran, nodded. In a way it was good to be undercover indeed. "Sounds okay," was all he said.

Vlad now reacted, his green eyes more or less emotionless resting on every move Callen made. "You can join me later tonight. At work. We will need to be sharp."  
Another night tossing around with stuff for 'Club Mostar'? Nothing to look forward to, but if it was what it took, well…

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The car Sam had been looking for, wasn't around club Mostar. Neither around the motel, but since he knew about Callen's paranoid way of thinking, his partner might just as well have found another place for it.

The room in the motel at East Atlantic Street that Nell had booked for Yoran Krajic was empty as motel rooms usually were. The only thing that proved that room 1.6 was occupied indeed, was the fact that the pillow was partly on the bedspread and one of the towels provided by the motel-staff had been used for a shower.  
Sam had hoped to find Callen in here. After he had shown his badge, the management had handed him a copy of the key so entering the room was without any problems.  
Nothing. No trace of G. Callen.  
Same thing for Callen's own house. No prove that he had been around – no traces of G. Callen, so far.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Al Angelo || Los Angeles**

Food was pretty good indeed. Eating and meanwhile eager to find out more about what these two men had to tell him, Callen concentrated on repeating as much as possible for his team members to track. He was sorry for the fact that he had insisted on only wearing one of the small button cams with a built-in recorder.  
Earwigs would have been better indeed to keep in touch with his team and he hoped that all he mentioned was reaching ops clear enough.

_-"Same warehouse again. I get it. Same job as well?"_  
Eric caught the words of the agent in charge which he then managed to work into a report which Granger, probably together with Sam, could use for altering, if necessary, their approach on this case.

_-"A special job. With another co-worker. I get it."_  
Eric sighed. It would mean another long night for Sam, Nell and himself, he figured.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Boathouse || Los Angeles**

Of all the cases so far, there had been only two where the team of NCIS had to let go someone they held in custody from the undisclosed location of the Boathouse.  
Despite the fact they had all heard why Callen had insisted to keep Pavlovic away from the case, there was simply nothing at all to hold against the man. No direct or indirect breach to the national security of United States, no real reason for questioning that might lead to a disclosure in this case.

Kensi sighed as she contacted Granger. "He's asking for 'the one call' prisoners are allowed to make. What's your advice?"

"That is far from usual, Blye." There was a short pause, then he said "We'll tape it, never mind the fact that it's not the usual way we'll work. Agree to it."  
Only two hours from then and with the interaction of a fancy lawyer who was assigned by the Serbian embassy in Washington, Granger had simply had to agree to let him go.

"We'll stick as close to Drago like an flea to his skin, promise you that," Deeks said.

"Tail him without letting him know. We don't need any problems with the authorities, right? Just let us know his whereabouts, Deeks. That's enough." Granger decided.

As ever needing to have the final say Deeks said "A flea in his tail it'll be, aye, yee hav it Captain. By the way, I always considered us to BE the authorities. I don't want any problems, you're right."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Club Mostar || Los Angeles**

Another night at the club. The main task this night sounded nearly too good to be true if it were Deeks to have it. Victor Malic had requested he'd accompany him and two acquainted ladies this time.  
So far, it had been Kensi who had posed as a call girl as a cover.  
Callen had laughed about her objections back then.

Now, he felt why he should not have done that. It would be hard work, at least for him. Chitchatting all night long, acting as if he was someone who socialized easily, was far out of the box for Callen.  
He grinned as the thought how his coworkers would discuss this matter, if they'd be able to see him around. They'd probably fight to get around and Deeks could surely remember enough to make him the laughing stuff instead of the other way around.  
Not getting drunk, just an incidental Spynest Crno Pivo.  
All went well until the waiter was about to deliver a bottle of champagne to their table. Malic definitely did not use the 'not-getting-drunk'-rule for both ladies who actually drank enough in Callen's opinion. And how right he was, as in a clumsy way, the young woman next to him managed to throw the whole bottle which partly landed on his shirt.

Silently cursing and hoping for the best, Callen did manage to switch the button cam and put it on the gray shirt Malic handed him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"What's this?" Nell nervously spoke. "How come there is no more footage coming?"

Eric looked up at the screens that had been covering the continuous images sent by the smallest camera the NCIS office owned. "Ran out of tape?" Then he quickly corrected himself. "Nope. It uses the same tape over and over, once the coverage is saved in here. Any clues from your side, Nell?"

The tiny information analyst shook her head "It simply—disappeared. Man… What do we tell Granger?" She stared at her partner at ops, suddenly feeling very insecure. "Will he blame us?"

"Jones… What makes you think I would be blaming you?"  
Owen Granger had entered Ops, overhearing those last few sentences. From what he knew Callen had gone lone wolf before, but in the past few years the lead agent had proved to be a good team player. This was not what he expected right now.

From downstairs, they heard someone hurry up the stairs. For some seconds they hoped it would be Callen himself, until they heard Sam nearly cursing. "He's gone dark, has he? Eric, how about letting Kaleidoscope run on that Mercedes."  
He faced Granger, saying. "Did you see this coming, Owen? Who are we dealing with?"

"You know just as much as I do, Hanna. If you'd ask me, so far this case seemed rather easy, although I haven't recognized any names nor faces nor facts at all. If this is the Zurcin headquarters we're talking about, they're all acting pretty peaceful nowadays. And in fact, no, I did not expect Callen to start acting on his own."

"You should've stopped him this morning. He—Callen in a way refuses to take your orders. He cooperates if you'd start listening to his opinion."

For a minute, Granger simply stood and wondered. "Why? I mean, you all seem to know I'm not the enemy. What did I do to Callen? Why is it he responds—differently?"

Sam sighed. "Just do not ask yourself. He is who he is and in a way I do feel your respect. It'll take some more time before he'll adjust."

"He doesn't trust easy, you know," Nell now piped up with their discussion.

Granger smiled kindly to the youngest member of the team. "Jones… how come I feel there are more people around with that attitude? Is it because you, like Callen, appear to be closer to miss Lange?"

"Instead of us all talking about trust I'd prefer to get Callen back in here. So, how about me going in that club tonight?" Sam suggested.

Granger frowned as he gave it a short thought. "No."

"No- what?" Sam asked.

"You're not going in, Hanna. Keep posting the way you've posted last night. If necessary, I could send Deeks, Blye or Jones with you. Meanwhile, Beale, are you able to find out who Callen called with?"

"And how about a BOLO, Sir?" Eric asked, while he already typed some orders on his keyboard.

Again, Granger paused for a second. "Not yet. I've got the feeling Callen will be around this club. Our systems must have identified the ones he was around with last night, right? Maybe you could check if they're around 'Mostar' again. Trace them. Keep Hanna and me informed. Jones, inform Blye and Deeks and tell them to even keep a closer an eye on Pavlovic. I want to know every move the man makes."

"Will you be around, Sir?" Nell asked.

The answer came soon, this time. "I will be, Jones. Need to make some phone calls myself."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Next morning || NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

It had been a long night with nothing new coming up, nothing that took away the worries so far. The team had been briefed once again by Eric, who had worked all night, and by Sam who had been posting until the club closed.  
The three agents had worked at their desks for the past half hour when Kensi nearly whispered "Now will you just look at that."

A woman, about five foot five, nearly black hair in an untidy ponytail, where lots of loose strands had escaped from already, had entered the building and hugged Owen Granger.  
Granger genuinely smiled back at her and simply returned the hug in an unknown affectionate way, no longer the grumpy man the team was used to see.

From behind her desk Kensi observed the way this woman addressed the assistant director in a way she herself never would do.  
The woman was dressed in a somewhat too large green hooded sweater which reached far over her hips. With it she wore a blue, faded jeans and some worn off purple sneakers. Altogether very casually dressed, a large contrast to Granger himself who - as ever - wore a rather dull suit with an open-collar shirt which would suit an FBI-agent as well.

"His daughter? Wife? Girlfriend? Someone he calls honeybee, cutypie, wifey, sweetie?" Deeks had narrowed his eyes and cocked his head as if he tried to envision a certain situation. "What dó we know about our big boss, so far? Not that much, right?" He was about to get up.

"Ohno. No-no," Kensi hissed as she understood what Deeks was about to do. "You wouldn't. Don't go there Deeks!"

"You're not telling me you don't want to know, Kenselina. I sense tons of curiosity coming from your desk as well. Has he ever shown his relatives around?"

So far, Sam had been quiet. Indeed, it was an odd thing to see strangers allowed to come to the office. One of Hetty's strict rules, yet Hetty wasn't around.  
"Maybe Granger changed the rules about letting others in. It would be rude to ask, Deeks," he calmly remarked. "If Granger feels like explaining, he will."

Worries about how they'd reach Callen in time to inform him on the latest developments made Sam think of something else of what Granger's personal life would look like.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

From the balcony, the sound of a whaling hound came, which meant Eric summoned them all to come upstairs.  
Some new developments from this case?  
Instead of either Nell or Eric in their usual poses, it was Granger to explain. "I'd like you all to meet Rebecca Belgrave", Granger introduced his guest.

Sam thought she could the perfect girl next-door if any should be casted for a movie. Perhaps because she was slender and dressed like she was right now, nearly looking fragile, and maybe because of the cute freckles on her nose, which however did not match the color of her eyes and hair.  
From a distance she had looked like an innocent college girl, from a bit closer about Nell's age.  
But now she was standing opposite of them, he noticed some wrinkles near her brown eyes that weren't the result of laughing only. She was older than he thought, maybe even somewhere early thirty. High cheekbones, a wide mouth and a straight nose. No smashing beauty, but special enough.  
He narrowed his eyes, trying to label her.  
In a way, she was someone who could stay unnoticed, who could blend in the crowd. Someone who would be able to hide in broad daylight. Fascinating.

His thoughts were interrupted by Granger's remark. "Agent Hanna, will you show Becca around in town and, more specifically, the location around 'Mostar'?"

"I do what? I mean, why?" He asked, surprised by Granger's request.

"Does it mean the two of you are not—you two are ehm, not, not ehm?" Eric asked stammering, just as curious as Deeks was.

"Not what, Beale?" Granger asked in the slightly nasal voice as he frowned.

A short snicker came from the guest herself. "Heck no," she said, understanding what the others must have thought. Her brown eyes were more serious when she explained "Owen was around when things were - complicated in my life. And now he asked me to return a favor."

"That's correct. I suppose you have no issues with it, agent Hanna?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He glanced at his passenger who looked remarkably small and innocent next to him. "So, Becca, have you visited LA before?"

Her brown eyes met his and she simply shook her head as an answer.

"Where do you come from?" Sam knew he might be asking too many questions. If it were Callen sitting next to him in one of his moods, asking anything like this might be too much indeed.  
Granger had not told them anything at all, except for him to drive Rebecca Belgrave around and show her where Callen was supposed to be that night.

"If you're referring to any accent - Wellington. That's New Zealand." Her answer was in facts, no words spoilt.

Sam maneuvered his Challenger through the ever jammed Los Angeles traffic and concentrated on pulling up and braking again in one of the six lanes that led downtown. The headquarters of the Zurcin was supposed to be on the second floor of the nightclub called 'Mostar'.  
It was day three of posting near the club. Day three and his partner was now unreachable, unseen and worse, no longer heard. The release of Pavlovic who was seen going in the same club early the night before, worsened his mood.  
He sighed away his worries, then asked politely "Did you really come from New Zealand just today?"

She glared at the large and strong looking man and explained better. "Nêh, today I flew in from Bogota, as soon as possible after Owen called me last night. Took a cab to a street he suggested. And here I am".

He shot her another quick glance. "Bogota. Colombia?"

Another shrug. "People work in there, you know."

"Sure. Though not always the honest way."

Becca grinned. "Tell me something I don't know, Hanna."

He understood. "Working for one of the agencies, are you? Oh, and please call me Sam."

"Owen asked me, not because of my regular work. He specifically asked me to go clubbing."

"He asked—what?" Sam nearly missed a turn by what Becca just told him. "You're supposed to do whát?"

"Go in a club, ask for someone called Yoran, tell him he should get out of there and go home. That's about it," she summarized.

Sam was astonished by her announcement. If it all was this simple, Granger could've sent in Deeks to get the job done. Why bring in a stranger?  
"No offense," he carefully said, "but why did he ask you? I could do the same, or one of the other members of the team."

She grinned like she did before, somewhat shy yet with a witty undertone. "You sing too, Sam?"  
She shove a loose strand of hair back right when he shot her a sideway glance. That was when Sam noticed something that so far stayed unnoticed. No ring.  
No finger to put it on either.

She noticed his look and uncomfortable with it, she quickly lowered her arm and put it on her lap - unseen again. Sam could literally feel her shutting down as she turned to lean her head against her arm which she had rested against the window of his car. An all too familiar habit of the passengers of the Challenger indeed.

For minutes not a word was spoken.  
That was until after Sam heard Nell's too fast and nearly whispering words spoken in his ear.

-"_Guess what, y'all. This Rebecca Belgrave is a ghost. She died in Italy in 2003."_

* * *

**A/N all names in this storyline were just made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental!**

* * *

_As ever, your reviews are very welcome_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Callen woke up on the same couch he had fallen asleep on.  
Not that he had planned to do so, but Vlad had insisted he'd stay at this place. And despite the fact that Callen felt that club Mostar was okay, he had a gut feel that something was off when it came to Vlad. Callen still had not heard any last name for this man, but he reckoned Eric and Nell would already know. Staying close to Vlad might shed some light on the whereabouts of this man.

_earlier_  
The night before, Victor Malic had partnered him up with one of the women, called Victoria and she had been simply too tipsy to let her go home alone. So he drove her back, after Malic had told Vlad that 'Yoran' would be around later this night for the warehouse job.

"Boy, you're so lucky, Yoran," Malic had told him earlier. "I could use your company more often, I see. Women seem to love to have you around. It might come in handy one of these days. Those women are—how shall I say, very influential in my business."

He'd simply nodded. The business Victoria and her female friend, Yolande, had been talking about was vague, but Callen considered it as an escort service or something like it.  
Not that he was interested, no way. He'd remind Granger once again that it was silly letting him continue this cover-op.  
Victoria definitely loved the proposal to be driven home by him. He'd driven his car into the parking garage that went with the apartment she lived in. Much larger, much fancier too, than was to be expected.

"You live here, all alone?" he asked.

Victoria giggled. "Not alone right now, am I?"

Callen sighed and tried to stay as kind as possible. "Listen, I am not interested in you, your friend or your business."

"I get it. It is true," Victoria answered, sighing deeply now as well. "All the nice guys are married, or gay. Tell me, are you?"

He smiled politely. "Nope. Straight and not married. It's just—It is complicated Victoria. It's not you. It's the moment and more. Things I cannot explain and even if I could, I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in either."

He did not have to explain either since suddenly Vlad stood next to him in the same apartment, which puzzled him. It was not what Malic had told him. Had there been some distrust? Did Malic send Vlad over?  
"Ready, Yoran? We should move on to the next job," Vlad pressured. "The others are waiting. You can drive with me."

Again, it was the warehouse where Vlad drove them to. Now it was empty, and Callen noticed several men were cleaning it. Others appeared to be building some separating walls within the large hall.  
"Building another club in here?" Callen asked the other man.

The answer was as indirect as ever. "You'll find out when the time is right, Yoran. I want you to go back and stay in the car. Make sure we'll have no unexpected visitors."

It had taken three hours to stay awake and aware. In fact, nothing different from daily routine – posting. Without the usual jazz music his partner used to tease him with. This time, he was alone. He looked for a nice station and finally found something with songs from the eighties. No teasing partner, and so he softly sung along with some of the familiar songs that were played.

An easy stakeout this time, since nothing happened. After the hours of waiting, Vlad showed up again and joined him in the passenger seat of his own car. Instead of dropping him at his motel, or driving back to pick up the Mercedes Callen had left in the parking garage, Vlad nearly insisted to stay at his place.  
And so, Callen just woke up on the same couch he had fallen asleep on, early as ever and wondering what to do next.  
Sneaking out on Vlad would not be possible. Right now, there was no way he could get to the NCIS office unseen. Not without his car around. Not without raising any suspicion.

Callen got up and went to the bathroom for a quick shower, got dressed and headed for the small kitchen. He opened some cupboards until he found everything he needed for making a cup of coffee.  
Behind him, he heard some shuffling. Vlad appeared in the same room, still looking very sleepy. His dirty blond hair that nearly reached the man's shoulder, now hung wild and greasy and his eyes looked puffy from what must be an early rise for him Vlad.  
As the nights before, Vlad's eyes warily followed every movement Callen made.

"Something wrong?" Callen asked. "It's not that I'm going to shoot you," he added with a grin. "Want some coffee too?"

Vlad kept quiet, until he started talking in his own language. "Kje ste, Yoran? Zakaj je jabolčna te pobral? Ste se kdaj vprašali, da je?" [Where do you come from, Yoran? Why did Malic pick you out of all the others? Have you been wondering about that as well?]

It was a test, definitely. He had never met Vlad before, had he? Yet there seemed to be a lack of confidence. So he simply repeated the things Nell had arranged for his backstopping. "Beograd. Chicago. Tu in tam je nekaj delovnih mest. Slišal kluba in Misja mi je ponudil službo" [Belgrade. Chicago. Some jobs here and there. Heard about this club and Victor told me that Misja offered me this job].  
He shrugged and continued in English. "Why?"

"Then tell me - who is Justin Miller? How come Victor tells us Miller sent you in?" Vlad now nearly snarled.  
The name did ring some bells to Callen. However, he kept his face unreadable as ever. Winning time and trying to make a solid plan to contact his team, Callen sounded relaxed as he shook his head and told Vlad "Let's hear it from Victor Malic himself this afternoon, okay?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sam shot his passenger another glance before he turned his attention to where he was driving. He decided to take the first exit and reduced speed. When he found a quiet street he halted his Challenger. Not changing his posture or pace, he drew his gun and pointed it straight at the younger woman next to him.  
"Slowly now", he demanded. "Keep your hands where I can see them, lady."

She hardly flinched, shook her head and cocked it slightly. A half smile appeared on her face as she very quickly had a knife in her hands and played with it close to his face. Teasingly she then answered "That's not serious, is it? What was it you were saying, Sam Hanna, you wanted to see my hands?"

"Why are you-" He stopped half way his sentence only to correct himself "Who are you?"

Although with the knife still close to his face, she flashed him a smile that was both close to shy as to open, well-meant. "Rebecca Belgrave," she answered.

"Who died in Italy, early May 2003."

Her eyes clouded and her smile disappeared immediately. "_Thát_," was all she said, putting the knife away and looking away from him again.

_-"My decision, Hanna. At the time miss Belgrave was not in a position to, how shall I put it, to make any decisions at all."_ The words came harsh this time. Not in the relatively casual way Granger had addressed Sam lately.  
Sam put his gun away, curious if and when Granger or this woman herself would explain what had happened.

_-"My fault."_ Nell responded in a small voice to both Granger as Sam. "_It's just that... anomalies like those are supposed to make me, to make us all, suspicious."_

Sam let out a deep breath. "Listen Becca, I'm really sorry. You very well understand that in this job of ours we need to stay sharp, and we're all worried about Callen, you see," he explained.

She shrugged and said in a brisk tone "Sure, never mind. Just... Show me where this guy of you is working. Then you, or one of this team of yours and Owen, should get the regular singer of the street so I can go in as a substitute, do my job and that's it."

It sounded so easy and for seconds it seemed she simply had boxed what had just happened, which was too good to be true. And how right he was, because soon after those last words she bit her lower lip and he saw her rubbing her eyes.

"Listen, I told you I'm sorry," he repeated.

Without looking at him she mumbled "It's okay - I'm just tired."  
Sam slightly shook his head, looking for the right words he could not find.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"This closet is great."  
Becca smiled politely at the petite information analyst who showed her around. Nell's hazel eyes smiled back at her in a shy way, still embarrassed by the fact her announcement of what she found had been so wrong after all.

"Oh, I know," Nell told. "Our boss, Hetty Lange, arranged it. Since this is the office for special projects with many undercover actions, there should be enough things to wear for all the agents walking in and out of here."

The other woman went through the clothes as if she knew what she wanted.  
"What exactly are you looking for? Hetty is very protective of all of it. Can I help find you something?"  
All of a sudden, Nell realized she was taking over some of the tasks she'd seen Hetty do over all those years.

The other woman nodded. Still dressed in the casual jeans and large hoody it was hard to imagine her in a tight dress like she had just taken two out of the closet. So she was a singer? At least that was what Sam said she had mentioned. And an agent too. 'She probably knows the drill', Nell thought, curious as she was about Granger's guest.  
"With dresses like those you'll be needing a clutch, earrings and more. Oh yes, and a listening device of course."

Again, Rebecca simply nodded with a short 'uh-huh'.

It took her nearly half an hour to get redressed for which Rebecca had rejected the assistance of Nell.  
Now she was finished with what she did, her black hair was done up with pins, leaving some curly locks loose. With some simple make-up, her brown eyes were now smoky dark with a touch of green. Added to that, red lips which completed a whole different look. Nowhere trashy, pure stylish.  
The change was extraordinary, Sam thought as he observed her when she stood in front of the large mirror. Comparable to some of the pictures he'd seen of a young Audrey Hepburn. Where was that 'girl-next-door' he met earlier?  
Rebecca was now dressed in a dark green dress which perfectly accentuated her body. It had long sleeves and it covered all decently - in the front. The back of it however was low-cut, and with a split that showed a lot of leg..

"Woow," Sam uttered.  
In addition to that Owen Granger smiled appreciative at Rebecca and mentioned "You still know how to do it. A real Transformer, right?"

A sincere smile enlightened her face this time. "Which car would suit a transformed girl need?"

"What-where... You need a ride?" Deeks and Kensi had just walked in. "I'd gladly drive you around."  
It cost him a 'don't you dare' glare of his partner. On the other hand, Rebecca smiled gratefully at the blond, blue eyed detective. "Anything if you could share what you've learned of that other singer."

Kensi explained. "Her name's Lori and she's their regular singer. Except for Sundays and when she's ill. In that case, she said, another girl comes around, called Victoria. Lori calls Victoria herself if necessary - there's an agreement they made with the owner of Mostar, Yuri."

"So when I arrive, it's simple. Lori's ill and Victoria couldn't make it," Rebecca understood.

"You paid Lori for this extra night off?" Granger interrupted.

"Yup. She didn't mind at all," Deeks spoke in one of his cheerful moods. "Now, about that driving?"

Granger glared at the liaised detective before he informed Rebecca. "There's a red Toyota waiting in the parking garage. Independent women don't need a driver. Nell has already programmed the route to the club in the car's navigation system. She booked you an apartment in town as well. In fact, you suppose to have lived there for the last year and a half as Sara Bobice."

It was not that he did not trust her. It was just that Sam wanted to make sure he would be at the right place to get the job done and get back in touch with his partner. "So, any ideas to how exactly you will be addressing Callen tonight?"

She tipped her head up to see him in the eyes. "It depends. There will be quite a lot of people around, the singer told your co-workers. I might grab the attention of all the Yorans around by a special song. Having a short break after that and wait if the Yoran you've described, will take the bait. You'll be outside, right?"

Sam nodded. "He'll recognize the car, sure thing. Will be parked near the MacDonald's. He'll recognize that too," he chuckled shortly.

"So… when a man, green eyes, rather short buzzed hair, about 5.11 high, early forties, comes toward me and tells me he's called Yoran Krajic, I can address him as Callen. And tell him Sam's outside because he should get out of the place. Should work, shouldn't it?" She was more serious now.  
After another nod of Sam, she looked at him and then said to him and Granger "Ready to go then!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**St Hills' street – club Mostar || Los Angeles**

Callen hummed with the song of the Righteous Brothers he sometimes played in his car when he'd start to work early.  
_-I've hungered for your touch, A long, lonely time. And time goes by- so slowly, and time can do so much' -_

"There's a new load coming in at ten tomorrow morning. We'll need you to be there, Yoran." Victor faced him. Again, Vlad accompanied Victor and continuously watched him, as if he was trying to read his mind. No way Callen let him.  
He still wasn't too sure why after these first few days when he was completely left in the dark, although both men appeared to easily switch into the trust mode. Crates again?  
"Of course," he agreed. "What are we bringing in?"  
He trusted Sam and Nell would be listening with him, again, contrary to last night, to whatever the information he would give. However, the only answer that came was a shrug. "Just be here in time."

He repeated "I will be here at ten."

A jazzy voice, lower than Whitney Houston's original, sounded and it reminded him of how he'd liked something similar, years and years ago.  
_-'So I'm saving all my love for you'-_

Another pivo and it tasted well.

Sade's song - _'Smooth Operator'_ - was sung. Songs from the past, rather than the modern repertoire. It all fit in this club, as it did with his mood.

"This one is for Yoran," he then heard the singer mention. For a minute, Callen did not realize he might be the Yoran who was addressed. Then he turned to the stage from where the singer performed.

Yoran was a rather usual name - Becca knew. The moment she had mentioned the name, at least three men had looked up. A young man in his twenties, and an older one, about 50 she reckoned, both did not meet the description she was given at the NCIS office.  
Her posture stiffened when she quickly scanned the third guy.  
It couldn't be.  
His hair was cut short, military short now. Not like in the past when he wore his dark blond hair voluminous, nearly wavy. Green eyes – definitely lenses, just like she used right now. An even more than five 'o clock shade which made him look more sturdy.  
He looked so… different from back then. But it was him, definitely. Yoran Krajic, aka Agent Callen was Geca, the very same man. Now sitting at a table with someone she very well recognized from years ago.

No moments of recognition, he kept his face perfectly unreadable. For a moment she doubted. Yes, 'this one is for Yoran', she'd said it herself. Now what song would she dedicate to the man whose life she once saved but never met again?  
She then quickly decided and chose the recorded music that went with Eric Clapton's song.

_-'Would you know my name – if I saw you in heaven_  
_Would it be the same – if I saw you in heaven_  
_I must be strong, and carry on_  
_Cause I know I don't belong – here in heaven._

She managed, not looking straight at him, and what was more important, not to look at the older man he was with. What had Sam told her? A deep cover. A crazy job, how could he?  
Not only she had seen Dragomir Pavlovic in this room, Victor Malic was sitting next to him, just as Vlad Rodivac.  
Yes, Rebecca decided. Callen had to get out of this room before he got made.  
And as soon as she could, she would leave this club too…

* * *

_Yes, please do review!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

_-'Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven'-_

Was it some days before, when Sam had asked if he'd seen a ghost? Callen remembered his own reply 'Ghosts don't exist'.  
At this moment, he wasn't that sure about it anymore.  
He waited another two songs, trying to keep the conversation going after he smiled away and ignored a remark of Malic about this song being especially for him.  
He looked around. So far there wasn't anyone he recognized nearby. Still he tried to stay as unseen as possible. He decided to excuse himself to the ones he was joining by saying he recognized someone he wanted to talk to, got up and took a free seat near the bar. With his back to the other visitors, he could watch all of this night's crowd in the mirror behind the bartender.

One other jazzy song was performed, one he heard many times and one which suit her voice perfectly.  
_-'But you'll be on my mind - Forever_  
_Something has to make you run_  
_I don't know why I didn't come…'_

Then she announced a break. Only minutes after that, Callen saw how she came from a passage that probably led backstage. She carefully moved through the guests until she reached the same bar he occupied a barstool at. He heard how she nonchalantly ordered a lemon water. He never looked at her directly.  
The way she bowed her head as she quickly wrote something on one of the thick coasters she took from the bar was so… familiar. Nearly elegant, although he remembered how playful and girlish she could be. When the water she had ordered was served, she looked up.  
Non-verbal communication through a mirror only. He could not really figure out what it was he read in her eyes, a glimpse of surprise, of regret? There was more, a mix of emotions that she was unable to hide. She wet her lips, nervously, before Callen saw how she, obviously accidently, dropped the coaster. Once again, she looked straight at him, took her drink and walked away.

Seconds afterwards, he picked up the coaster from the dirty floor.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

The sliding doors opened and this time, Granger came in like Eric and Nell were used to. "Jones, Beale, what's the status on everything you have the systems look in?"

The ops workers looked at each other and it was Eric who started. "Still nothing on the owner of club Mostar, Gavralovic. His whole past, career, bank accounts, phone records, he's paid taxes – all appears to be legitimate."

"Any updates from agents Blye and Deeks?" Granger asked.

"They're still posting, sir. Keeping an eye on both the club as on Pavlovic' car," Nell replied.

Trying to keep the full status in mind, Granger asked for a further report.

"I've still got face-rec running on the men Callen's been meeting those days. So far, we've only identified Dragomir Pavlovic. The easiest one, since we had his last name to start with, to work with. And Victor Malic. We've informed you about his past before. The systems are looking for that other man, that large one," Nell summed up.  
She then continued. "What we did is putting a list of the Chamber of Commerce next to the list Homeland supplied us with ánd next to a simple pay list of the club. So far—nothing."

Granger frowned. "Let's see what agent Callen comes up with, IF he decides to join us. But I have no doubt Becca will persuade him to do so." A faint smile appeared on his face. "Well, keep me informed.  
He turned around when one of the system beeped softly. Alerted by it, Eric quickly read the feed that appeared on his screen.  
"Uhm… about that encrypted group of characters? Greer's system added more characters. It's like this right now." He kept using his keyboard before he looked up at the screen where the list had grown indeed. "I must say there were no hits with any of the agencies' decoding programs so far."

R.E.E.Z.A.R.E.B.E.L.G.E.C.A.J.U.D.E.

"Damn it!" Granger cursed as he studied what Eric had put on the large screen. "Get me agent Hanna on the phone!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Club Mostar || Los Angeles**

The message had been clear and urgent – 'Abort Mission'. From her short scribbles Callen understood he had to get out of there as soon as possible - Sam would be waiting outside and would take care of getting 'Yoran Krajic' out of sight. Some directions to leave unseen were added. Near the toilets was this small corridor for artists and if he'd follow that, he could leave through that entrance. Sam would be waiting nearby.

Callen let the round coaster go through his fingers several times.  
Working on this case was off, so different from everything he'd experienced so far. Indeed, he wanted this to share with his partner, with his team.  
How and why was Rebel involved? From what he now read, she had met Sam. When and how? Who sent her in here?  
The best scenario he could think of was to follow the instructions she'd given, meanwhile being prepared to be betrayed by someone he had expected to never see again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sam breathed in deeply.  
His partner strutted to the Challenger as if he had been to an In-'n-Out for a burger instead of being unreachable for over a full day. No matter how relaxed Callen appeared, Sam knew he was alert as ever. And something more - staggered.  
Only when he lowered himself into the passenger seat and felt comfortable enough, Callen looked at his partner as he simply said "Why send her, Sam?"

"Never mind right now." Sam looked at his watch. "At what time will the music stop?"

The eyes that usually got icy blue as Callen was looking angrily at his large friend, now only went darker. "Didn't ask that," he stated. The sound of high heels coming near made him look up.

"Good, so you found each other. I just was—checking." Rebecca cocked her head slightly. "So, mission completed, right? I guess we all could use some sleep by now."

Callen got out of the car again as he started speaking. "Why did you do it, Rebel?"

She walked to a small red car. "Do what?" She replied. "I was asked to look for Yoran. For Callen. Nobody ever told me it would be you. Yet here you are." She halted to get the keys to her car from a small purse.  
He grabbed her arm to make her turn to face him. "That's not what I meant. Why did you make me believe you died? Why?"

Tearing herself loose, she now opened the door of her car and said "Just to let you know… I spent over a month in a filthy and crowded hospital, in a hostile country, struggling to stay alive before someone finally managed to get me out of there. Then I was moved to Italy. And you really think I—I filled in some paperwork, to do what, to fool you? Really? Besides, once someone would start looking for Geca they'd only be hunting spooks. So… why was that, agent Callen?"  
Her voice was calm enough but he could see she had trouble to keep it under control. A short "Good night" followed as she got in the car and drove away.

The black Challenger was still parked and once again, Callen dropped into the passenger seat. His elbows on his knees, he let his head rest in his hands and rubbed his temples, then let his hand go over his short hair. "God, how I screwed up Sam. I should've—why did I ask? As if I accused her. As if she was aware of what happened with and around her. If only I could turn back time…"

Sam had partly seen his partner and Rebecca argue. Odd, because he thought the two of them hardly had some time to get to know each other. He now figured out it must have been something from the past. Not his past—theirs.  
And whatever it was the two of them had been discussing, it was clear that his partner had said something to offend the woman. Something that he, Sam, was unaware of. But as far as he knew, Callen was unaware of the relationship between Owen Granger and Rebecca Belgrave.

"Granger arranged it."

"Arranged what? And why do you know and I never knew?" There was something in his eyes, something Sam did not recognize. Hurt, distrust?

"He arranged that she came over and help us. She mentioned something like a debt too. Never mind, Granger just called."

"What was it about? Informing if this stupid way of warning worked? Why not send in Kensi?"

Sam started the engine and drove off as he calmly replied "Pavlovic was in there. He'd recognize Kensi, or Deeks or me. We had to let him go, we knew he was in there and there was no way to warn you without blowing your cover, or worse, the operation might be breached so we'd blow the case and have it handed to another agency. Now listen, you call Owen and ask what the urge to know if she was out of the club as well was about."  
He wriggled a little and managed to get his cell phone from his jeans, handing it to Callen.

_-"Hanna. SITRAP"_ Granger kept it short.

"It's Callen in here. What's YOUR SITRAP?"  
He heard a deep sigh, not specifically irritated, he noticed.  
_-"Good, so the message worked. How about the messenger – Becca's left the club as well?"_

"Who's Becca?" Sure, he now understood. And he knew Owen Granger would not answer his question in return. Callen shook his head. "Don't you tell me Eric did not give you the best angle to park a car so he could find a traffic cam and follow all our moves."

_-"As a matter of fact, it's far too dark to really observe, agent Callen. That's not the answer to my question, is it?"_

Reluctantly, he answered. "She – this 'Becca' - left and I know you DID notice. But why—"

_-"Stop fooling around Callen. Your turn to keep her safe. Beale in here managed to hack into some systems and came across an old alias of hers. Once we found it, the character row in which it was places, disappeared from the systems. So whoever it was that noticed the name might have come across her real identity. Keep-her-save, Callen,"_ Granger ordered.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked "A character row – can you have it sent over to this phone?"  
He disconnected without waiting for any more answers. "You know where she's heading to, Sam?"

"Address should be in there," he motioned to the phone.

Callen scrolled through the messages. "This the one – Huntington Park?" He looked at Sam who nodded and accelerated. "Second to the left," Callen directed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Seville Road || Los Angeles – minutes after**

She was angry with herself. Frustrated because she never wanted to react to his behavior, to his questions, like she had done. Seeing him after all these years – after trying to find someone who never existed – was a sudden shock. And she detested herself because she was not able to handle it professionally. 'Damn you'… She should've behaved differently.  
Caught up in her thoughts Rebecca simply obeyed the instructions of the navigation system.

The first shot hit the left tire in the front. The shock of it made her grasp the steering wheel and start to counter-steer. Immediately after, a bullet came partly from behind, shattering the driver's side window in pieces. The glass was everywhere and it was only seconds after, she realized it wasn't the glass that was stuck in her upper arm - the bullet itself hit her hard.  
Before the pain set in she did slow down the car, but with one flat tire and with a swift deploying airbag it was hardly possible to avoid a frontal collision with another car. Another desperate move finally made the car slam into a fire hydrant.  
The sudden squirt of ice cold water everywhere alerted her from the seconds of being covered with white dust and the pain that raged through her upper body.

There were gunshots that she heard. Footsteps that came closer and she expected someone who would finish what they started. She realized that, but at the same time she was too sluggish to reach for her own gun.

"Rebel?"  
He was there, opening the door.

"Rebel, can you move?" There was worry in his voice.

A soft moan "Yes." She did her utmost to prove it, unbuckling herself and slowly leaving the car seat.

"Take my car and get her and yourself away from here," Sam yelled. "Kensi, Deeks, need your back-up in here and need it soon!"

_-"With you in a minute, big guy. Wait—Nearly caught your bullets,"_ Deeks quick reply came in.

The water that kept spraying at least six feet up proved a great cover to get to the Challenger as fast as possible - which was in fact so slow.

"Go, G! We'll cover you!"

He was relieved to see Rebel finally sliding into the passenger's seat and closed the door. When Callen got in behind the wheel, he knew where he needed to take her as he saw the trickle of blood running down the side of her face…

* * *

You don't know how long I have wanted  
To touch your lips and hold you tight,  
You don't know how long I have waited  
And I was going to tell you tonight  
But the secret is still my own  
And my love for you is still unknown  
Alone

[Heart, 1987]

* * *

_Thank you for reading! As ever, I'm happy to read your reviews, thoughts and more, so please do leave them._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

She wasn't particularly talkative, which did not surprise him at all.

The only thing she brought up herself was "Did you see who did this?"

Callen shook his head. "No. Granger warned us someone might be looking for you. Listen Rebel, whoever did this, knew your alias. Any idea why, or who?" He tried to fill it in himself. "Did Granger tell you beforehand where you were heading to?"

Rebecca shrugged, which made her wince in pain immediately.

"Becca?" He used the name he was told by Granger. It was odd he never knew her real name, while he should have found out all those years ago. He let his gaze go over the woman sitting next to him.  
The gorgeous green dress was ruined from the glass debris and water, there was blood on her face and her hair hung tousled and loose. Despite the poor look right now, he was mesmerized to see her alive and next to him right now, instead of reappearing in his nightmares like she'd done so many times. "It's not only your head that's hurting, right?"

She slowly breathed out and answered in a strained voice "A bullet grazed my upper arm. It's still bleeding. Maybe we should have a look at it."

Sam was not going to like this, Callen thought as he parked the Challenger in the parking garage opposite of the LA County Hospital. His wet jeans and shirt clung to his body and he now knew she was off worse than him - wet, hurt ánd bleeding. They'd probably be ruining the leather of the car for real this time.

"Ready for the next move, Rebel?"

She shot him a weak smile and gave a confirmative hum.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

_-"Hanna?"_ The nasal voice of Owen Granger sounded surprised when Sam called in with Kensi's phone.

"We didn't catch them, Owen. Whoever it was that fired at her car got away. We checked the building from where we estimated the shooter was firing from. Did find some footprints, but that's all. We're waiting for forensics to see if they find any sleeves. Did you hear from Callen?"

_-"Nothing so far. Did you receive that letter code Nell sent to your phone?"_

Sam sighed. The last one who used his phone was his partner, and Sam had no clue about the location of both. Just as he wanted to tell so, Eric's voice came in.

_-"Sam, your car is parked at Marengo street, that's—LA County Hospital."_

He nodded, unseen from the others at the ops center. "He's having her checked up in there. Good. I'll have Kensi and Deeks drop me off in there later on. Will contact you as soon as I'll know more. Expect you to do the same." He hung up, glad to know Callen and Becca would be alright. It was after midnight by now and he longed to be at home with his own family.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**The Strand || Manhattan Beach**

For some moments he had thought about hot-wiring one of the cars in the parking garage of the hospital, but decided it would be too risky in the end. Instead, Callen had helped Rebel in one of the wheelchairs which he pushed past the cameras. His trained eyes had figured out soon enough which would be the next step to leave unseen.  
At this time of night it was quiet and although he realized Rebel needed care, he also realized that whoever it was that had shot at her car, would have noticed the black Challenger. It would be far too easy to find the car or the woman near a hospital. So instead, Callen had shown his ID to one of the nurses who was leaving, telling her the FBI needed her car. Leaving by the personnel exit would go unnoticed, he assumed.

He drove the grey Chevrolet all the way to the locked gate and pressed the buttons of the code lock. The gates immediately swung open after this and Callen slowly drove further before he parked the car. Looking in the rear view mirror, he checked if the gates automatically closed. All worked fine.

And now he reached this place, Callen felt safe enough. "Rebel?" She didn't respond and he noticed how pale she was. Opening the passenger's door he gently touched her shoulder. "Becca?"

Her eyes opened, tired and less alert. "Hu-huh. With you," she murmured. She unbuckled the seatbelt and rather unsteadily got out of the car.

"Need a hand?" he asked, not too sure how she'd react. But at the same time he decided to step closer and put his right arm behind her in a protective grip. There was no struggle, no reply, and together they walked to the side door and entered the house.

Callen guided her onto a small, cushioned bench in a cozy kitchen. He then motioned "Wait here for a second. I'll be back with someone who can help you."

There was a pause before she mumbled in a soft voice "Thanks."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The warm shower had been welcome indeed. Somewhere soon after the long sleeve was cut from the green dress, Rebecca was helped out of the rest of the dress. Although she did not know where she was and who it was that she was with, it felt okay to be taken care of this way.

"Now this part is going to be nasty, young lady. There's nothing I can do about that, so brace yourself for what's to come."

Rebecca simply nodded. She'd quickly examined the spot where she felt most pain came from, where the fabric of the dress stung to her upper arm. There was a piece of glass stuck in it as well and she bit her lower lip when, carefully, it was pulled out with a tweezer.

"Perhaps you'd better stop biting your lips and sit down."

She looked down, understanding she'd better just obey. She managed to breath in deep, exhaling through her nose, something she'd learned in the past. Despite the fact she was prepared, the pain from when the wound was probed was too much and she simply passed out.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She held up the ruined dress with a satisfied smile. "Now, so it was finally used I see. Tell me, Mr. Callen, how did this dress look when your poor young woman wore it?"

He looked up at the older woman who was so dear to him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It was an early Christian Dior, designed for and worn by Grace only. A personal present, because… well, that doesn't matter, does it?"

He tilted his head, then shook it, hardly understanding what he'd heard "Grace as in Kelly?"

Callen frowned, knowing there was one of Hetty's secrets she probably was not going to reveal any further. "So how come you get all freaked up the moment you discover a spot of ketchup on a pair of replaceable jeans I've been wearing, yet you nearly seem to appreciate this unique dress ruined completely?"

A rare but genuine broad smile appeared on Hetty's face. "Because, my dear boy, it is clear that this woman might be special to you, and therefore I'd say the dress served its purpose."  
She paused for a minute then she said – not really expecting an answer. "You worked with her? Then she is one of Owen's protégés I reckon."

Hetty very well realized there was more to this story than what happened during the short period she had been summoned to come to Washington where she had spent two full weeks.  
Until the case that the team was working on right now would be solved, she'd stay away from the Office of Special Projects. Owen Granger was more than capable to temporarily run the office and despite the fact she loved her job, Hetty admitted she enjoyed her time off.

"So, how did it look on her?" She repeated.

"Stunning." He sighed.

Hetty looked at the man she'd often considered as the son she never had. She then carefully phrased "Is there anything you can tell about those scars I noticed?"

Callen swallowed as he remembered the terrible footage he was shown years ago. "Knives," he mumbled. He paused for some seconds. "They used knives. Gibbs finally showed me when I was well enough. She never gave away the info's they wanted. I was told— They said she died, eventually."  
He didn't talk about the message that was written on the wall next to her seemingly lifeless body that was left in an empty room - 'CIA whore'. Nor about the bullet that was fired too soon and slipshod, luckily, so it did not kill her at the spot. Nor that he'd ever told Hetty, Sam, Gibbs or Nate of the fact the images and the screams he never heard, had haunted him in his dreams all those years.

"She's going to be alright. All she needs is rest."

He smirked. "And how comes she is as fast asleep as she is right now Hetty? How did you manage that?"

A quick smile appeared on her face. "Just half of the dose of Zopiclone I would have given you, dear boy. She needs the rest, and after a restless and painful session she's just had, well, I was not too sure."

Yes, Hetty had seen the scars - a long one in the neck that had been carefully stitched, most likely by a plastic surgeon. The one on the inside of her right upper arm must have been deeper, or longer around. From the years of experience, she knew of many ways of torturing people. One of it was to tie ones arms above the head and use simple materials; salt and vinegar for instance, and pour it in a deep wound. It would do a lot of damage to most people's resistance. And oh yes, she'd seen there was a finger missing too. The girl had suffered enough and she figured that was one of the reasons Callen had taken her to her place.

"Mr. Callen? Sometimes we make bad choices for the right reason."

He let out a loud breath. "Heard that before, Hetty."  
Of course she had read his thoughts. Didn't she always manage to do so? "And what bad choice you think I made? Taking her here?" From where he sat, he looked at the older woman he felt he could trust. "Hetty… You think I should have been looking for someone who was supposed to have died? Cause that's what—that's why. Well, she and I should talk about it."

He gently touched Rebel's, Becca's, cheeks, put back some strands of loose, light brown hair. Looking up at the small, older woman, he smiled gratefully. "You got rid of the hair dye. Lenses too?" He remembered the real eye color – a deep gray, a color that was very unusual.  
When she had been angry they were like steel. Excited, they'd change into nearly black. The time the two of them had strolled along some streets in a city which belonged to others and sunlight caught her eyes, he had wondered how it was that a greenish color was added to the gray. Chameleon like.

"You feel guilt, Mr. Callen. I can read that in your eyes. Now, there is no need to tell me why that is. As long as there is a time you manage to speak the right words at the right person."

His shoulders slump forward as he admitted "She's here because she was upset by something I said. At least, I think— And regrets? Well..."  
He paused, let his fingers go over Becca's left hand and swallowed, then he spoke in a gentle voice "For crying out loud, Hetty. I was young. Stubborn, naïve. Made lots of mistakes, like wanting to see her." He sighed loudly. "When she died, well, when they told me she was—It is why I finally promised myself never to get involved with women with cuffs. Never to date law enforcement again, not anymore. Because… maybe it was a foolish mistake I made in Belgrade, coming to see her, visiting her apartment, over and over again."

Rebecca started squirming, as in a bad dream. It made them turn their attention to the here and now.

Nearly unseen, Hetty shook her head. "It sounds like you're too tired to think clearly, so I suggest you too should get some rest, Mr. Callen. There's a makeshift bed you can put in here, if you feel like it."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He had checked the incoming calls on Sam's phone. Like Granger had promised, Nell had sent over the character row that Eric had found on the computer system of this guy Greer.  
It was just a row of characters – for those who did not look any further. Because of that, Callen was taken aback of the fact that Granger had known about an alias. Reeza – the name she'd used when she was singing in the Novak Café, all those years ago. Or Rebel. The name suited her all too well.

The thing was… If someone managed to find her, someone might be knowing about Gibbs' alias and his own as well.

For some seconds only he considered his next move. Was Hetty right, could it be he didn't think clearly?

Then he took his phone to make a call.

* * *

_Thank you for taking your time to leave a review!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

_When there's so much speculation on the scoops Shane Brennan left us for season 6, there's one that says "Romance is in the cards for Callen, and from an unexpected quarter". For the series? No way! But thank you, Shane Brennan, for being able to use 'your' – in fact he is ours! – G. Callen for this storyline…_

* * *

In the end, Callen had chosen to simply have a nap in the cozy chair in the room. A nap from which he just woke, gasping and in need to clear his head. Call it nightmares, call it bad dreams – all in all it mostly were just memories that kept haunting him. It seemed like they were always there and usually it took him some moments to realize that's what they were – memories. Despite the fact the dreams were as bad as he was used to, this time things were different when he opened his eyes.

He sighed at the sight of the sleeping form right in front of him and for once, Callen wished he could put some restlessness aside. And stay, no matter what.

But then he got up as he already had decided which steps he'd take from now on.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"Just do what I asked, will ya, Eric?"  
Sam nearly snapped. After a night with far too little sleep he was cranky right now. Only this morning he had picked up his car, finding out neither his partner nor someone called Rebecca Belgrave had entered the ER. So right now, he was pressing Eric to check camera feeds of the parking garage.

"Easy, big fellow. We all understand you're moody. No need to help us into that same moody mood," Deeks advised. "Why not try the GPS on your phone first? You mentioned Callen took it."

Eric shook his head. "Already gave it a shot. Turned off, of course."

"How about the other one?" Nell asked. At the same time, she typed the number of the phone she'd given Callen right before he left for his cover op. "It's without GPS but hey… We should and can deduct, right?"

Kensi came closer, curiously looking over the other woman's shoulder. "You mean your system can also trace a phone without GPS?"

The red hair head shook just a little. "No way. But we can look into the phone records. Just like we can do that with Sam's mobile. I'm going to give Callen the standard call, 'call home' so he knows we need him. Maybe he'll respond. If not, the system can check if he made any calls at all and whereto. All we need to do is wait for maybe an hour."

"Huh. An hour. So, Eric, how about camera feed?" Sam urged.

Nervously, Eric looked up at the senior agent. "You know I cannot do this without orders from Hetty, Sam."

The scraping of the throat they all heard was very familiar. "Since Hetty is not around, orders of the assistant director will do just as well, don't you think Beale?" He simply nodded to the others. "Good morning, by the way."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**The Strand || Manhattan Beach**

It was an awkward way to wake up. There was an odd and buzzing feeling next to her stomach that she did not recognize. It seemed to take ages until her weary brain realized that it was a phone that was put on the blanket.

Rebecca took it. There was no number on the screen, just one message 'call home'. No way she would use someone else's phone to do so. And all of a sudden she realized it must be Callen's phone she had in here. Then it hit her and it hit her harder than she ever imagined – of course he had a home and probably a family of his own. And so he was not around in here right now, because he went home - of course.

Minutes later, at nearly 10 in the morning she noticed, Rebecca picked up the same phone again. For a while she did not know what to do with it, except for scrolling through the contacts. No, no way she'd do that. She shove it as far from her as possible.

Slowly she rolled back on the bed, closing her eyes again. Meanwhile Rebecca was thinking what to do next.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**South Westlake Avenue || Los Angeles**

Justin Miller.

Only the other day Vlad had mentioned that name. Miller… Callen knew the name, but he never met the man. Had Miller been around in Russia or Serbia? He didn't remember. Thing was that Vlad had told him Miller and Malic had been discussing the fact that Yoran Krajic should be recruited. Why had that been?  
Perhaps he could get Vlad to explain better. Just Vlad. The guy seemed above-board, hard working too, with perhaps some secrets. If he could only get Vlad to the boathouse and ask about Miller.

Since there was no way Callen would be naïve and go back into that club to meet with the large bouncer, he would pay him a the least expected place – his home.

One thing he always trusted was his ability to find back locations everywhere in this town – his town. He bitterly understood this was one of the benefits of living in so many foster homes or on the street.  
Although it had been past midnight when he arrived at this address some nights before, Callen parked the same grey Chevrolet he'd taken last night to the opposite of the street. He took some minutes to observe the neighborhood. Two too well padded moms with strollers passed his car, nothing looked suspicious. He got out of the car, crossed the street and entered the porch he needed to be in.

A quick look on his watch affirmed what he already thought. Vlad would be around, but probably nearly be ready for the next move. One that Yoran Krajic was supposed to help with, mostly to listen to what Vlad had to say.

It took him only one breath to shake off G. Callen and become Yoran again. He knocked on the door as he called Vlad at the same time. The door opened up nearly immediately and the look on Vlad's face was surprised, though not hostile.  
"Yoran! Hey, thought you'd left not to come back in our business."

He smiled. "Sure. Just to let you know I met a girl last night. And a guy like me needs some money to entertain a woman. You know how things go, don't you? So now I was about to pick you up. Ready?"  
Callen expected the man might come with some excuses, but Vlad took a jacket and nodded. "Talking about Victoria, right? Boy, Yoran, don't interfere with her business. Seriously… Well, we can discuss it on our way to the warehouse."

He gratefully nodded. "Tell me all about it! You know what, I'll drive!" Callen jogged across the street to the car that wasn't his. Vlad stood on the other side of the street, waiting for a dark van to pass. A dark van with two wide opened sliding doors.  
For a split second, Callen expected to hear Sam shouting. However, the shots he heard, did not come his way. Instead, they hit the man who was to drive with him. As in slow motion, Callen only noticed the three masked men coming his way.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**The Strand || Manhattan Beach**

She'd taken a quick shower and dressed. The small and tiny older woman must have put the clothes in the bedroom Rebecca had stayed in. Clean clothes – fresh underwear, a pair of jeans that would fit with the belt that came with it and a plain gray granddad shirt. Black boots. Gratefully she got dressed and, just as she was about to leave the room the phone buzzed again. For a while, she doubted what to do. A different tone this time.

She sighed. Too curious, she decided to answer it. And without any introductions, there was a voice on the other side simply telling "I've arrived. We should meet."

* * *

_Thank you for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Callen realized he was too slow-moving. This time the memories of the horrid shooting on that fifth of May clouded his ability to act like he should act – quick and alert. There would be nothing he could do for Vlad, and now those three men came his way.

He wouldn't be able to reach his car. There was no way either to start shooting without hitting any panicking, innocent bystanders, nor to outrun the others by now. Focusing on what happened in front of him, the all too familiar feeling of a gun barrel in his back surprised him and made him realize that for now, his options to get away were less than limited.

A voice from behind him came "Get in the van."

In an ultimate try to identify the person that went with the voice Callen wanted to turn around. Whoever it was that held the weapon chose the absolute way to prevent that – with a force that knocked him out, the back of the gun hit his head hard.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**The Strand || Manhattan Beach**

She still held the phone. The person on the other side of the line paused after the earlier spoken five words. Rebecca did not know whether she should answer or not.

"Callen?"

She shook her head, scraped her throat a little before she answered. "He is uhm, he is not around."

"Tell him Gibbs is in town and wants to see him, like he asked."

In a way the voice sounded familiar. "Gibbs? I will tell him when—if I can. Will he know how to reach you?"

There was a deep sigh and another pause before the answer came. "This phone. He called me to talk about—you. Rebel?"

Again, she was quiet. For a moment she thought about disconnecting and her still foggy brain had to work so hard to think about what was going on.

"Rebel?"

Her soft response was a simple "Yes."

"We need to meet. Callen called me. Someone, he doesn't know who, apparently found out about your alias, your identity and whereabouts. That might go for him as well. Or for me," he tried to explain as calm as he could. "So. It worries me he's not around and decided to leave his phone with you."

Rebecca nodded as she narrowed her eyes. "You are… Jude, am I right? You think Callen is in trouble then?"

His answer was again short and simple. "Yes I do."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

Eric shook his head. "I am serious Sam, we've lost them on the camera feeds from this place on." He pointed at the screen where they saw how Callen pushed a wheelchair towards the elevators of the hospital and entered.

"Now where the hell did they go?" Sam muttered. "She's wounded and should be in there, but nobody saw them in the ER."

"Don't know about that, but I did find this," Nell interrupted. She swooshed the content of her display to the large, wall-fitting screen. Then she highlighted some numbers that appeared in both lines of the schedule. "We've got a number that was dialed vice-versa. Let's see… Callen's call to this number lasted 1:07 minutes. The call to Callen's phone took a bit longer and took place just minutes ago. In fact long enough to trace the number to its owner. It is a government issued cell phone."

"Find out whose phone it is, Jones. Anything else you need to share?" Granger had listened to Nell's latest information.

"Not now Sir. And it'll take only some seconds to find out about—there, I've got it." She shook her head when she read it. Looking up at Granger she said. "It's agent Gibbs' phone, Sir."

He rubbed his chin with his left hand and let the information sink for some seconds. "Right," he said. Granger turned to the phone on the desk in front of Eric's desk table and pressed the speed dialing button for the Washington office.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**The Strand || Manhattan Beach**

Lady Gaga's 'Love Game' came from the large garden behind the house, where Rebecca spotted the tiny woman who had taken care of her the night before. The older woman was humming with the song as she was carefully pruning some red roses that were surprisingly full with buds and flowers, taken the Californian heat into account.

Rebecca felt guilty for not thanking her, but Gibbs had told her to meet soon and so she felt that she had to leave.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

From the corner of her eye, Hetty noticed how the gates to her courtyard closed. Now that she concentrated, she heard the roar of a Jaguar driving away from this street.  
Her Jaguar.  
She shook her head. As ever, the lead agent felt like he needed to act on his own, become a lone wolf again. But she then realized this must be the second car leaving her compounds, since Callen had arrived with another car the night before.

Henrietta Lange got to her feet, sighed deeply and mumbled "Oh goody." She then took off her garden gloves, went inside to change and took the keys to one of her other cars, the bright red Stingray.  
The office would be only a half an hour drive.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location: unknown**

Before Callen opened his eyes he was aware of the waves of throbbing pain in his head. He unknowingly let out a loud groan which alerted someone, because he heard the scraping of a chair that was shoved backwards and the footsteps that came his way.

He could not allow himself to stay this weak and so he forced himself to move on up.

No surprise – his arms were tied behind his back and getting into an upright position was a struggle he'd need to practice several times.

When he finally had managed, he noticed the fancy blue leather shoes next to his own boots and he looked up. There was a sly grin on the man's face. An all American face where Callen more or less had expected to see someone with more Slavic looks.

He quickly observed: short and crinkly, ginger-red hair - balding already. Very light brows, green eyes and a small mouth with thin lips in a puffy face, about 6'2". The man was dressed in a neat, light grey linen suit. Overdressed for where they were right now – wherever that might be.

"Do I read any surprises in your eyes, agent Callen?"  
No traces of a foreign accent. Pure Texan. Callen decided not to respond, not until he'd hear anything being revealed by the other man about why he was in here, like this. He soon corrected his own thoughts. Men. Maybe there had been an un-noticed sign from the Texan, but from behind him he could make out three other men had entered this room.

The Texan then started talking. "Getting you in there, in the club, wasn't that hard. It was just a matter of pulling the right strings. Pushing the right buttons, so to say. Convincing my superior to inform your superior it would be all about the Serbians. I had hoped, expected, that I could have this conversation as we're having right now with you, you see."

Callen shook his head, carefully since it was hurting more than he'd expected and answered "A monologue so far."

"Ah. Cocky you are. Heard about that. Well… we'll see where that gets you," the other man shrugged. He gestured to someone behind Callen and in the blink of an eye, two pair of strong arms hoisted him up and dragged him to the lonely chair in this room.

So far, there was no chance he could identify any of the four men who were with him.

It was the Texan who addressed him again. "Now, agent G. Callen. Or if you'll prefer Geca. Believe you'll remember that name too. Ya'see, there's something you got that I wanna get rid of. I'd been thinkin' it would've take a long time to find, but hell, she presented herself in town. Unexpected, ayeh?"

Callen shook his head. No way. Again, he looked up at this man and shook his head as he said "I don't know what you're talking about."

A curt nod from the Texan and from nearly beside Callen's face, a hand came down and backhanded him.

Then Callen noticed how from behind, Dragomir Pavlovic came from one way, and Victor Malic from the other. "He's the one you need, Justin?" Malic asked.

The Texan was Miller. Justin Miller. And he squinted with the words Malic spoke, then shook his head. "He has the one I need. This special agent is the one who knows exactly where I can find Rebecca Belgrave. And if you had paid any attention last night, you could've taken care of business for me. Now, Callen. Tell us, how do we find her?"

He closed his eyes for a brief second, blew out loudly, smirked and answered "No way."

This time, the barrel and cylinder of a handgun were used to backhand him and caught him above the eye. The force of it made his head snap backwards and Callen felt how the skin of his eyebrow split. The sharp pain reached his brain only a snippet of a second before all went black, again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

The large, wooden door to the Office of Special Projects was opened by the tiny boss who had opened the door so many times before. Hetty Lange belonged in there.

She walked straight past the desk – her desk – to a small step stool close to the dressing room and hung her large bag on the coat hook. Hetty then overlooked the large desk area in which the team usually did their paper work. Piles of paper in inboxes, a closed laptop on Callen's desk, bags on detective Deeks' desk and agent Blye's chair… she shook her head.

For some seconds only she hesitated. Then she headed up the stairs where the sliding doors automatically opened.

As she entered she simply stated "The Jaguar, Mr. Beale. My silver 1974 Jaguar. I would like your systems to find out where it is right now."

She then faced the others and greeted them like she'd never left. "Let us see, am I correct there is one of my agents missing?"

A quick smile had appeared on Owen Granger's face as he looked down on the petite . "Hetty. It's good to have you back. And yes"—he sighed deeply before he continued "Again it's Callen who's gone off the reservation."

"Wait, wait," Kensi interrupted, "that's an assumption I don't share. Sure, we haven't been able to contact him, but we do know he's been contacting Gibbs, right?"

Granger nodded "As I was saying, agent Blye, Gibbs told director Vance that he'd take some days off. He did not tell Vance or any of his team why. Right now, agents McGee and DiNozzo are checking Gibbs' place and will call in as soon as they know anything we need to know. As for Callen—"

"He disappeared earlier this morning in the most predictable way – unseen. I'm more worried about the woman he brought with him." Her gaze did not leave Granger's face. "I believe you know her, Owen? For your information, agent Callen took her to one of my places. I saw to it her wounds were taken care of. A full metal jacket, through and through her left upper arm. Late last night I made sure she'd have some sleep."

Granger had listened carefully. "And?"

"Despite the loss of blood and the Zopiclone, this young lady decided to take my Jaguar and drove God knows where. Mr. Beale, have your systems look for it."

She pursed her lips slightly as she added "Find the car and you'll find this woman. I sure would not want her to get hurt any further. In her condition driving is not the best idea."

Deeks cringed his nose as he mumbled "She might shed some blood to the interior of the car. It's bad for the leather, isn't it, Sam?"

The large former SEAL shrugged and addressed Granger. "Never mind that. Someone decided to shoot her, and so far Becca has been lucky. What made you decide she was in danger all of a sudden, Owen?"

"It's a long story, Hanna."

"Then why don't you give us the short version?" Sam asked, curious what it was Granger was about to tell.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Your reviews are welcome, as ever!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

Granger scraped his throat, thinking what to answer when Sam had asked him to tell them in short why he had warned Sam and Callen that Rebecca Belgrave might be in danger.

"When I introduced Becca - which is short for Rebecca Belgrave—" he explained to Hetty in particular —"earlier to you all, it was a, how shall I say, a kind of an experiment. She is a great singer, so in that way she certainly fit in. But there is more: she applied for one of the vacant positions in New Orleans and in fact, I wanted to test if she was still as sharp as I remember to have heard in the past."

Sam interrupted "It's the second time you mention a mutual past. One in which you decided to fake her death. And what was it she mentioned she owed you?"

For seconds there was a grumpy expression on the assistant director's face, then it was brushed away in the blink of an eye. "In 2003, when I worked for the CIA, I visited Russia to coordinate a mission when a phone call from former NCIS director Morrow came in, telling me to get an American woman out of Serbia. The only intel I was given was the name of a nurse in the Zemun Hospital in Belgrade".

Deeks smiled. "So you took a Lada, packed some bags and booked a room midtown, enjoying Belgrade's cultural centre, picked up that nurse, enjoyed some of the night live and drove back to Russia together. Right? Probably wrong, but never mind, go on."

With a sad smile Granger shook his head. "I found a mutilated young woman, tortured in many ways. The nurse wouldn't have known she was American until in the third week of her stay in the hospital wounds were infected once again and fever set in. Until that moment, this young woman had not spoken at all. The nurse was alarmed by the visit of three men who appeared to be looking for this patient. All she could do was tell them the woman had been released earlier that week."  
He cleared his throat again before he continued.  
"So I got her out of Serbia and managed to have her hospitalized in Italy. Then I had our systems at the CIA check her picture. Just imagine my surprise to find out this woman was a coworker from my agency. Again, there was the gut feeling somebody was tracking her movements. That was the moment I decided to have the hospital to write a fake death warrant. Despite her critical situation, I transferred her to one of the vessels in the Standing Naval Force Mediterranean in Trieste. From that moment on, I too lost tracks on her. In a way that was okay. If I could not find her, nobody else could either."  
He sighed again, deeply, thinking if he should explain the more recent contacts he had with Becca.

"You still haven't answered Sam's question," Kensi urged.

A rare full smile came her way when Granger went on with the explanation. "Then Beale in here told he suspected there might be something going on at Harry Larson's and he came up with this combination of some characters. At first I did not want those two techies to dive into that matter, after all it seemed something coincidental."

"But then you noticed the combination changed and you saw something, right?" Nell asked, curiously because she, like the others, had been stunned when Granger suddenly noticed something they did not see.

There was a small but appreciative nod towards the small Intelligence analyst as he continued. "'Rebel'. Rebecca Belgrave's, Becca's codename from years ago, was added to the list of characters."

He stared at the large screen, which was completely blank at that moment. Then he faced the small office manager, nodded shortly and started talking again.

"Beale, see if Kaleidoscope can find Henrietta's car. Deeks, Blye, I want you to go to Harry Larson's and get Greer and Schofield to the boathouse. See if you can find out who they were working for."

The three nodded, waiting until all was said and done.

Before Granger finished, Nell spoke. "We've got a body." She quickly read some information, looked up and showed a scene on screen. "The victim was identified as Vlad Radivac. According to LAPD he died in a drive-by shooting. That's part one of this case. LAPD has witnesses who state that there were several masked man who dragged another man into a black van."  
Again, she read from her own screen before she looked up and explained. "According to a 911 caller, it was 'a man, short cut hair, stubble, jeans, dark jacket and boots'."

She was quiet for a while before she softly uttered her thoughts.

"That sounds like our Callen".

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location: unknown**

He did not know how long he'd been unconscious to what went on around him, but Callen assumed it wasn't all that long. There was a sticky feeling above his left eye and on his eyelid as well. It meant that either it had been bleeding very long, or it started bleeding just recently.

The thumping headaches weren't new to Callen. He'd experienced many like these before and he knew that if he would come out of this alive, Hetty would probably have him grounded for a week or so and would keep the paperwork coming his way.

Odd thoughts. With the horrid headache right now even the far promise of paperwork coming his way suddenly sounded safe and not that bad at all.

He wanted to keep his eyes closed and let darkness come over him again as his body slowly slumped forward.

Some punches in his upper body made him awaken violently though and Callen couldn't help letting out a scream as he was not prepared for this. He gasped for air and blinked his eyes several times before he noticed there were two men using their aggression to deliberately hurt him.

"See we got you back in the game, agent G. Callen."

The Texan, Miller, leant to a wall, casually watching the situation.

Callen's head hurt as did his ribs by now. Still, the fact that he was addressed as agent G. Callen meant that Miller was someone who knew his real identity. It hadn't happened many times in Callen's career and in a way he didn't care about it right now.

Miller cocked his head and pursed his lips a little before he spoke again. "Remember our previous little discussion? There was this small favor I was asking."

Callen clenched his jaw, trying to remain motionless. "Repeat your question. I'll repeat my answer. No way."

He braced himself for what might come. The roaring laughter of this Justin Miller was not what he expected.

"You really think you could stay in control? Wait till Victor in here practices his skills with a knife. Have you had a chance to study his work on Rebel's once so perfect body? Victor can work quickly or ever-so slow, depending if he is deliberately want to hurt someone or simply kill and walk away from it. As for your girlfriend—"

"She's not."

It sounded cold yet it was the truth. Rebel, Becca, could not be his girlfriend. Callen never had any girlfriends. Never mind what Sam had believed, Joelle had not been a girlfriend. Neither had Tracy been. Maybe Kristin, maybe… He bit the inside of his cheeks. Ever since the moment he heard Rebel had gone, Callen had known for sure that he would never let anyone in his carefully guarded private life. For everyone he might pull closer would get hurt, because of him.

A sly smile reappeared on Miller's face. "If she's not, there's no reason to tell us where to find her. In the end, it won't matter, you know. Tell me and she'll die quickly. If you refuse, well… Let me tell you, it's you who'll be dying slowly and she who will be watching. I had hoped you and us could work together, you see. Since you refuse… well, I have my ways getting her in here anyway, and Victor may meanwhile enjoy some of his handicraft."

He kept smiling as he nodded to Malic, who now carried a bowie knife. "Just a tease, agent G. Callen. Just a tease. Make sure you'll stay until I'll arrange this lovely reunion."

The knife came dangerously close and there was no way to avoid it anyway.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Santa Monica Pier**

A lonely young woman. Someone whose pose shouted 'do not come to close'. Gibbs quietly observed her. It was something in her stance, never mind the way she sat – her knees pulled up, arms hugging them – Rebel was restless, leery.

She was exactly where he had told her to wait for him - at the fifth bench on the left, counting from the ocean side. As ever, the Pier was crowded with tourists, fishermen and locals who were simply enjoying the view. Gibbs took his time to scan the crowd until he finally approached the woman.

"Rebel?"

Despite the fact she knew he would meet with her at this very spot, she looked around, startled by the name, a codename, she had used so many years ago. A genuine smile reached her eyes as she gratefully noticed the man coming nearer.  
"Hey. Gibbs?"

His hair had grown thinner and it was perhaps a bit more grey than pepper-and-salt as it used to be and there were definitely more lines in his face than 11 years ago.

Behind the quick and sincere smile Gibbs noticed something else, like a silent panic, nearly too deep hidden and barely surfacing. He was a good reader of emotions, just like he was good at hiding them and from the brief period he'd worked with her, he remembered she was too.

He wondered what it was that happened to her, which things had changed her. Like Callen, Gibbs had believed she had been brutally killed back in Serbia, or was it Italy? Back then his worries were to keep Callen alive and to get safely away from Serbia. He now regretted that he never did his best to find out what really happened back then.  
Someone had breached the situation, burned identities and betrayed good people. Gibbs did remember however it was when and where rule number 40 had its origin from – 'if it seems someone is out to get you, they are'.

It would be too soon to discuss, but he needed to know now what really happened.

She remembered he was not a talker and Rebecca wet her lips, nervously now as she asked "Jude… If you really think Callen is in trouble, shouldn't we contact his office?"

He gently put his hand on her shoulder. "It's Jethro, for friends. Jude was… a codename."  
He nodded then. "Perhaps you're right. Tell me, why and where did he hand you his phone?"

She slowly shook her head. The situation itself bothered her. Here she was, visiting Los Angeles because Owen had asked her to assist on a case. In less than 24 hours her path crossed 'Geca's' anew which had come as a shock. Now all she knew was that he might be in danger, like this man, Gibbs, and she were too.  
Rebecca drew in a deep breath. "I was shot last night. He was there, and drove me to… a private place. There was someone who took care of me, an very small and older lady"—

"Hetty." The corners of his lips quirked slightly.

Rebecca nodded. "Could be. He was there before… before I passed out. When I woke up, he was gone, but he left this phone. I found it rude to check since—" she bit her lower lip, not knowing if she should share. "He went home, I think."

Jethro Gibbs tilted his head a little and his clear blue eyes were warmer now. "Home? I bet there was a message to 'call home', right?"

There was a shy smile this time and she answered "Yes."

"It's a standard call. I use it when I need to contact one of my agents. 'Home' is the office." Worry now crept into his mind. It meant Callen had gone lone wolf or, worse, had gone missing.  
"You're right. We'd better contact the Office of Special Projects. Even better, we'd call a cab and get there."

"Not necessary. I borrowed this nice car, a Jaguar, from this woman. You think you can drive it?" All of a sudden, she felt shaky and weak. There were so many things she wanted to know, wanted him to know.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location: unknown**

There was no way Callen could avoid getting away from Victor Malic who had taken a knife. Neither was there any hesitance in Malic' actions – and Callen knew what was about to happen. He tried to control his breathing but didn't manage as the man he had worked with, now slowly pushed the curved top of the blade through Callen's jacket, shirt and finally the skin and flesh until he stopped right before he injured the left deltoid.

And there was no way Callen was be able to not scream at the blinding pain once it reached his brain.

* * *

_Ouch... I never really meant to hurt my favorite agent, yet it happened._  
_Please let me know your thoughts about this chapter & this storyline. Thanks for reading!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

There had been more Granger wanted to share, although he wasn't too sure about the timing.

Now, the recent discovery of a man who was related to one of the lead players in the game and who had been killed in broad daylight ánd the fact that, most probably, their lead agent had been taken, withheld him from continuing.

He hesitated for a while. "Well… if this is our agent. Uhm, Agent Blye, detective Deeks, stick to the original plan. Get those two men in the boathouse and don't let them leave until you find out anything new. Find out why they used their skills to find out more about Rebel. Use pressure. If it has anything to do with the original breach in Harry Larson's systems, let me know what. If not, manipulate until they tell you who ordered them to run through all those systems."  
He then looked at Sam.

"You and I will be visiting the crime scene. You do the driving this time. It'll get me some time to think."

Sam nodded, admitting this situation was more serious than he had expected. Last night he'd picked up his partner and Sam had expected to talk things over. Callen would probably be able to explain more about what happened in that club. And now Hetty told them he'd visited and left her place without any explanation at all, and the bad news kept coming.  
The sooner they'd find Callen, the better. How many times had it been Callen who seemed to attract trouble? On the other hand, it might have something to do with that woman, Becca, around. Maybe she knew exactly what was going on? Rebecca appeared to be sincere. And if Sam ever had any doubts, the worries of his own partner, of Hetty and Granger should assure him anyway about that.  
He asked "Eric, you know your systems should be able to find Hetty's car. Could you keep us informed? And Nell, if the Washington colleagues call in and have any information about Gibbs' whereabouts, please have him or his team call us and tell why he and Callen contacted, will you?"

Granger finally let his gaze go over Hetty's face, trying to find out if she could agree with his decisions. Then, in his usual nasal voice he slowly asked "Will you stay in here to guide those two?" as he nodded towards Eric and Nell. Again, he paused for a second. "And to lead from here? I would appreciate that."

A short and emphatically smile came his way, telling him Hetty was back in control. Which was alright with Granger.

He straightened his shoulders and spoke a bit louder this time. "Let's go!"

Although it was inspiring enough, there was again Deeks who wanted to have the last word. "Aye, captain. Or wait, glad to have you around, General Granger. Lead us like Patton. Always do everything you ask of those you command."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location: unknown**

Apart from the inevitable first single scream, which came because of the feeling that the mere threat of the man working him with a knife that became reality, Callen managed to keep quiet.

He could handle the searing pain from where the blade went in and was surprised that once Malic drew the knife back, a numb feeling replaced the first sensation of pain. Callen knew it had something to do with shock and adrenaline and above all, the fact that Victor Malic appeared to be mastering the art of working with this material.

It was the bleeding that worried him most.

He did feel the eyes of the three men resting on him. None of them spoke, however. It was Malic who still held the knife and who came closer, a sardonic smile on his face.

"Ready for the next round, agent Callen?" He continued in his mother tongue. "Jер ја сам спреман" [because I am ready].

Callen coldly faced the man. True, Malic was the one who did miracles with knifes. It was Callen who mastered the art of stonewalling, infuriating his foes time after time. Infuriating, but confusing them too.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

Now she was back in the office, _HER_ office, Hetty felt alright in a way. There was a special kind of tension creeping inside her tiny posture, but it was the tension that made her feel stronger and more self-assured, despite the fact it was again Callen she had to worry about. Always him.  
The talented special agent she had wanted to see growing up from a scared, stubborn and lonely little boy to the still stubborn, lonely and strong man he was right now. If only she had been able to find him a solid base during the first few years. If only… well, Henrietta Lange knew there had not been a chance to keep in touch with the boy, with Clara's boy, all the time. Her job never allowed that.

It had surprised Hetty when Callen had turned up at her place last night with an unknown woman. Even more surprising it was, in her opinion, to see a soft side of the man she was so fond of. Something she had never observed before. The fact that she had enjoyed that made her worry even more about the things she heard from Granger, from her team.

She slowly breathed out and turned to the youngest two of her team.

"Recuperating – what do we have? Since mister Callen mostly had eyes for our guest, I would like to be completely informed. And Miss Jones, do we have full access to both CIA as NCIS files from 2003 in here? If so, we might learn something from the past."

* * *

_This was a short chapter indeed. With a reason - in the next chapter there's so much to happen!_  
_Your reviews are very welcome indeed, so keep them coming :-)_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

Disclaimer: As you all know, none of all the characters that appear in this story belong to me. The NCIS Los Angeles characters are all a result of the creative mind of Shane Brennan and great his writing team.

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

As Nell entered her password, she suddenly realized "This is exactly what those two men of Harry Larson's were trying to do! I mean… Eric? Remember we were guessing why they were entering data, years, codes."

Hetty pursed her lips for some seconds, then straightened the bright yellow blazer jacket and folded her arms across her chest. "Please do explain, Miss Jones. It appears there's a lot of information I miss."

Both Eric and Nell started to talk. "I noticed they were trying to breach security systems—" "Greer and Schofield knew about 2003 and kept entering searches. You know, those character rows Granger talked about."

The operation's manager tilted her head just slightly and understood. "The codename you all mentioned. Rebel, if I'm correct. Now, those other characters, what did you find out about those?"

This time, Eric and Nell faced each other, swiveled their chairs simultaneously towards the screens and both shrugged before they changed the screens and got the list of characters back before their eyes once again.

'Meerkats', Granger had called them. In a way, he'd been right.  
"You mean… after discovering Rebel in that list, no-one was interested in those other letters?"  
Hetty silently shook her head. "We need names, ladies and gentlemen. Codenames. CIA. NCIS. 2003. Italy, Serbia and the United States. Just like that."

She turned to the sliding doors, planning to find her own desk again, as she added "And my jag, remember, Mr. Beale?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**South Westlake Avenue || Los Angeles**

Yellow tape marked the area that was cordoned off and LAPD officers guarded the scene where Vlad Radivac had been fatally shot.

One of the officers had accompanied Granger and Sam to two witnesses who were still around to leave their further statements.

"We've got Mrs. Wood and miss Gina Wigginton in here," the officer stated. "Both of them were on the street side where this man of yours was gunned down."

"The man who was shot wasn't one of ours."

The fact that Granger nearly snapped at the officer caught Sam by surprise. It was so unlike Granger usually behaved.  
He approached both women and smiled politely as he introduced himself, showing his badge. "Sam Hanna, NCIS. This is my ehm, my partner. Owen Granger. Now, about what you saw that happened in here."

The oldest woman started to explain again. "You see, I live in two blocks away from this man. Needed to do some grocery shopping. You see, I needed to get new peanut-butter, since the kids are coming over for a late lunch. God, if they'd witnessed this. They might get traumatized Sir. Really. I mean… Look at this. You see, this is what's happening in this city Sir, this used to be—"

Sam tried to keep smiling politely as he interrupted. "I get it Ma'am. Can you tell me if there was someone else with this neighbor of yours?"

It was the other, younger woman who nodded. "There was. He came with that car." She pointed at a grey Chevrolet that was parked nearby. "He looked as if he was glad the two of them were leaving. He had a great smile."

"You might want to describe the man," Granger insisted.

"No problem. Short hair, brownish blond. Really short, like some army guys wear their hair. He was in a good shape, perhaps someone who's used to work out. Wearing blue jeans, blue shirt, grey jacket. Great smile. Oh, now I repeated it."

All the talking started to frustrate Sam and he took his phone to scroll through it. "This the guy?"  
He showed a snapshot Michelle had sent him recently of Callen and their girl, Kayla, who had been making pancakes in the Hanna family kitchen.  
The woman squinted a little, then answered "Could be. Though his eyes seemed… darker I think."

"Right." He knew enough. "So, this man. He didn't leave with his car, did he?"

She shook her head fiercely. "God no. He left with the shooters. Not willingly, that is. They forced him, and when he refused they…" Her arms made a motion like she was striking someone. "He was knocked down and they took him."

"They were masked, Sir." The other woman added to it.

Granger faced the senior officer, then turned to the others. "Thank you. Now, officer Donehy in here will take notes from now on."  
Both men walked to the Challenger. Sam took his phone and pre-dialed Eric's number. "Eric? You probably looked already if there's any traffic cam's nearby?"

_-"We're on it, Sam. Read from reports that it was black or dark grey or dark blue. No banners, two sliding doors. Probably a Ford Transit. Like 99% of the vans in LA, unless they're white. Will let you know when I get more intel."_

"Thanks Eric." Sam looked up at Granger and shook his head. "Nothing yet. So. What now?"

"The Boathouse sounds okay. Let's see if our junior partners are working on the employees of Harry Larson's yet."

It wasn't what Sam wanted to hear. Not the 'our', nor the fact that they were still sidelined when it came to finding Callen any sooner. "We might get more infos if those guys from that club 'Mostar'. You and I could go in there?"

"That's not happening, agent Hanna. Not unless we don't hear anything else."

Sam hit the brakes as he stopped the Challenger at a bus stop alongside Culver Boulevard. "We haven't heard anything else, Owen. For all I know, Callen could be dead by now. And you want me to listen to some tech guys who probably have nothing to say? No way."

Granger faced his temporary partner and it hit Sam to see a warmer yet sad smile from the assistant director. "Trust me, Sam. If they wanted Callen dead, we would have seen him at the same morgue as this Serbian guy is in right now. Without clues, where do you want to start?"

He shook his head. Granger might be right, but his gut feeling told him time was ticking, maybe faster than they wanted. Sam sighed deeply, looked in the rear view mirror as his foot hit the pedal again and he started driving.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location || unknown**

"Wait".

Callen heard the word coming from the Texan as he watched the hand with the knife, both belonging to Victor Malic, coming near again.

"Wait," The man repeated. "Because I do read the question in your eyes, agent Callen. You want to know why, right? Why you? Why her?"

He managed to keep his expression blank but his brain worked fast. These guys… Pavlovic. He had been around in Belgrade, he had been the one who shot him. But what about Rebel? She had mentioned someone was watching her. Who, why? In the end, it had been Malic and his knife who nearly won. Was it this same knife?  
Despite the fact he really wanted to know more, his worries were different right now. He felt blood seeping from his left shoulder, more than he wanted.  
As ever, Callen knew his team would be looking for him. With no car and no phone, he knew it would take forever to be found. Maybe Kaleidoscope could pick up the van. Maybe, if Eric had the sign to be looking for it after all.

Time was all he had to help the others find him. And so, Callen kept doing what he was good at. Stonewalling.

Instead of Malic' knife, this time it was the Texan himself who used another way to express his anger. His fists hit the same shoulder that was tortured badly already as the man started yelling "the bitch stopped it all. The assassination. My part in the game. My business over there. She need'd to be punished for that. She should've died, but didn't. And now—now when I am about to be promoted she shouldn't be around, damned. She knows. So do you, so it should end right here. As soon as she's in here and I already know how to get her."

Callen heard the words, but his brain and body silently screamed out in pain and he couldn't really process the information. In a desperate try to control his breathing, he started breathing in quicker. This he could. But then the knife came around anyway, exactly as earlier, this time as far away he heard the Texan speaking. Without any sound at all, he welcomed the darkness that overwhelmed his consciousness.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Near Santa Monica Pier**

She had handed Gibbs the keys and showed him where the silver Jaguar was parked. He smiled warmly at the younger agent.

"You sure know how to pick them. Hetty won't like this."  
He then opened the door for her and Rebecca gladly slid into the passenger chair. When Gibbs entered behind the wheel, he tossed her his phone. "Call home," he said.

Rebecca glanced at the seasoned agent, not sure what he meant. "You mean—Ehm, you think I should call Callen?"

"Might try it, but I'm sure he won't answer."

She took the phone and scrolled through the list of contacts. She looked up with a short smile. "Owen. He's in your contact list too."

"He IS the assistant director of NCIS after all," Gibbs answered, as he adjusted the seat of car.

She only nodded, as the call was answered immediately.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Boathouse, Marina || Los Angeles**

Owen Granger sat on the table and had his left foot resting on a chair next to him, quietly and intensely observing how Kensi and Deeks were questioning Greer and Schofield. It was clear, even from the short time he and Sam were around, that Andrew Schofield might be the first one to break. The man seemed more desperate, whereas Kevin Peter Greer appeared to be more sly and avoided to talk.

"We should split them up, don't you think, agent Hanna?"

Sam was still annoyed. He stood, his feet in the military position and his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. "They should. Not us."

Granger nodded as he got up to walk to the interrogation room. He knocked on the door and seconds later Deeks opened it. It was just a motion with his head that made Kensi and Deeks join Sam and Granger and at the same moment Granger was about to explain that Sam and he would take Greer to the other room, his phone rang.

He answered without looking at the number.

"Granger." He listened for a while and shook his head, as if the person listening would remark that motion. "Not yet." While talking, he glanced at Sam. "The office will be alright. Henrietta Lange will be around. Gibbs knows how to find it too, indeed."

He opened his mouth to explain when, again, the standard ringtone sounded and he sighed deeply as he answered it again.  
"Granger." He listened to what was said by the caller and nodded.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

The first 'bleep' was followed by another, seconds later.

"Gibbs' phone," Nell noticed. "Great. If this is a call that will last a minute or longer, the system will ping it. We probably can pinpoint it this time."

"Great," Eric remarked enthusiastic. "Meanwhile, I have – or well, actually Kaleidoscope has found the Jag!"

Both of them turned to their own screens again, waiting for what was happening.

"Perhaps, if you kept sharing, you would notice what my eyes have been noticing, Mr. Beale. Because if I am correct, it might be so that both are located in the same area." The voice came from behind them.  
In one way or another, Hetty seemed to have a seventh sense as it came to being at this place at this time.

"You're right," Eric answered. "

Nell kept reading what was on the small screen of her tablet instead of looking at the information the extensive search of the telephone connections had automatically scanned.

She was a quick reader and even quicker at analyzing what her brain processed. "Rebecca Belgrave was CIA back in 2003. In fact, she's been CIA until earlier this year. She was stationed in Belgrade from late June 2002 until March 18. Granger picked her up from a hospital in town on April 3rd, 2003. She was moved to the USS Nichols in Napels, May 12 of that same year. From that moment on, there's nothing. Until she is back at the time of the Guantanamo homicide accusations in 2006, as she was stationed in Cuba."  
Nell looked up. "It's quite a file, Hetty. "Bulgaria, Turkey, Aruba… And then Bogota – again for a long period as a local contact. But so far, all of this was classified. Until lately, as her file got circulating."

"And why may that be?"

Nell smiled. "She is supposed to become one of the New Orleans NCIS agents."

Hetty slowly nodded. "Hence the contacts with Owen. Granger got her to Italy, though he said he wasn't aware at that time that she was CIA too. Why did NCIS' director Morrow call him? How did Morrow know?"

Nell scrolled back in the document and let her eyes go through the text once again. Her head snapped up as she said "Gibbs."

The phone at Eric's desk rang and he answered. This time, he only nodded twice and disconnected with a "Yes, sir." Then it was his turn to look up at Hetty, unable to hide the surprise. "Gibbs."  
He paused for a second as he realized he should explain better. "Gibbs is in town. He's with Rebecca. She called Granger, they'll be on their way to—to us, in fact."

Hetty pushed her glasses up as she mumbled "Gibbs." Then she looked up at the youngest members of her team. "Miss Jones? Add the intel of the unofficial mission in Bosnia of agent Gibbs and our mister Callen to the files of miss Belgrave please."

Henrietta Lange knew there would be more to this story than she heard from Owen Granger so far.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Location || unknown**

The low hums of someone talking and explaining something reached his brain. Callen concentrated, despite feeling weak and hurting.

-"Santa Monica, the Civic Auditorium. Those Serbians, they're inside."

It was quiet for some seconds and Callen nearly passed out again, he could feel it – the ringing in his ears, the black spots darting in front of his eyes. But he had to know, he had to.

-"Send them over. I'll be waiting."

* * *

_Thank you for reading. As ever, your reviews are very welcome!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

A/N Thank you so much for reading so far. For those who take the effort to review: your words are very welcome. Please continue to do so. Now the story is coming close to an ending…

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Boathouse, Marina || Los Angeles**

Immediate after he disconnected, Owen Granger rubbed his nose. Then he watched his team. "Agent Blye, tell the guards to keep an eye on those two men we have in there. It's time we get moving."

He did not explain any further, because now it was his time to make a call.

"Beale!" He nearly yelled. "We need ears and eyes, if necessary infrared. Santa Monica, the Civic Auditorium. Get us information, blueprints, whatever."

_-"On it, sir,"_ Eric answered.

-"_Owen? Is this where—Is this the venue where mister Callen is being held_?" Hetty asked, overhearing the conversation. "_It's an awful large complex. Are you sure about it?"_

Granger nodded. "It's what I've been told by my contact, the deputy assistant of Homeland Security. He's been in this case as well, right from the beginning. He was the one who contacted us in the first place, Henrietta. Now, about your car…"

_-"What about it Owen?"_

He sounded gentler now. "I know where it is and who is driving it. I'll ask Gibbs to return it to your place undamaged and intact".  
Although he could not see the tiny operations manager's face, he simply knew her well enough to see both the amusement as the shock to hear he knew as well.

-"_Gibbs… and he is on the road with this female agent of yours?"_

He spoke slightly softer right now. "She's not 'my agent', Henrietta. And about Gibbs, he might have met with Callen earlier on and got to know Becca indeed. Although I never expected Gibbs to be around as well." He paused as he suddenly realized. 'No, of course not. They also knew each other from years ago, like Becca knows Callen. The only place I know Gibbs might got to know her was when they both worked —"

_-"Serbia."_  
Despite the fact both of them understood time was ticking, both Granger and Hetty both paused again. It was Hetty who spoke.  
_-"Take care Owen. Take care of the team. Please get him out of there."_

"We will, Henrietta."  
Granger hung up, knowing his answer meant more than he could tell.

Again, he looked up at the team. "Right. Go and grab your gear. Vests. Ammunition. Be aware things might get nasty."

He once again dialed a number, glad to have two more seasoned agents to assist his team. "It's me. Can you put me on speaker please?" He waited until he heard Gibbs' voice as well. "We've got a location where I need both of you as well. As a matter of fact, you're close to the venue right now. I need to know if you're properly armed and ready to assist."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Santa Monica Civic Auditorium**

Of course it was all about the bait and the timing.

He knew that this place would soon be crowded with federal agents and probably the local police department as well. Never mind.  
At this very moment, he could see how the one they would come for, was bleeding heavily. This agent was tougher than he had envisioned. Apart from the first scream he had only moaned, and growled about that he was not going to talk.

Naïve.  
Agent G. Callen had expected to buy time. Instead, he was about to lose this game because in the end he would bleed to death. Or, if this man was to survive this first hour from now, HE was about to find out where this special agent would be treated in order to survive. As ever, he had his ways to get close. Ways to destroy life, especially those who were weak enough and not be able to defend themselves. Because so many others were naïve indeed.

At this moment, the only thing Justin Miller wanted to know was whether or not SHE would be around as one of the team who would rush in to save the team leader.

Rebel. Rebecca Belgrave. For a long and relaxed period, which lasted about five years, he had believed she died indeed. Then suddenly her name popped up in one of the reports that reached his desk. Soon after, she disappeared again. She had been moving around every single time he got close. Moving and changing her name, because in one way or another she must have felt he had his men watching. She survived, until now. Miller sensed it. The others were naïve, and now he finally found her weak spot. Finally.

All those who would not survive their curiosity and eager to either come and save the agent or to fight for their own lives, would be collateral damage. Including the Serbians who had been loyal so far.

For the moment, he simply found it very convenient to have all the inside information that came from the assistant director of NCIS himself. Naïve as well.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He was so tired by now, but Callen tried hard to keep himself in the game. Keep breathing, keep concentrating.  
Right now, it was only Miller and himself in this room. He must have had a blackout, a short one perhaps, because he never noticed that Malic and Pavlovic had left.

Even though it must have been over an hour that Malic used his knife, Callen still felt blood dripping and he knew his shirt by now was soaked. It was useless thinking about it, since there was no way he could've put pressure on the area, let alone lie down. His vision blurred continuously, the rapid blinking of his eyes did not help. Some severe shivers made him breath in deeper. Oh, he recognized the symptoms. His blood pressure was low.

He needed to stay awake. He had to warn the others that it was a trap. That Miller could not be trusted. That Miller was after Rebel. That this time, it was not about him.

Rebel.

Callen closed his eyes and let several images of all those years ago pass by. Times when he really managed to relax and enjoyed being around with a woman. Passionate moments. Great and long nights and short and sweet encounters. By now he realized that it all came at a price too high. He should have known it was never meant to be for him.  
The great times, back then which he'd shared with the mystery called Rebel. Days - weeks, and he had expected to enjoy spending even more time with her. Until that April day back in 2003.

It was never meant for him.

Another attack of shivers stopped his thoughts. No matter how hard he wanted to stay sharp, his body seemed to win from his head. Slowly he sank back in complete oblivion.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

Hetty looked worried, but she tried to hide it. "Tell us, Mister Beale, how difficult will it be to guide the team from here through that large building?"

The tech operator hit some buttons and turned to the large screen where he explained in a hurry. "It is a large building indeed, however, there is a part of it which is still used, and there is this."  
He enlarged the western part, right behind the West Patio and explained further. "These are the loading dock and the dressing rooms. Both part of the complex that is not in use anymore. Since costs of maintenance went up, half of the halls are neglected nowadays. There are some exhibitions or other minor events, but the city council considers of closing all of the Auditorium. Now, this is the part that nobody cares about or uses anymore. If there's any part of that building where someone's able to stay unnoticed—" he swallowed some times to think what else might have happened to the team leader, then continued "—it's this part of the building."

Again, his fingers juggled with the keyboard. "Let's see if there's any traffic camera's nearby. Or even better, perhaps I can find a closed camera system on the inside," he said, enthusiastic by now.

Nell had put her handheld computer aside.

She too looked worried and bit her lips. "Eric should be the one in control in and around the building as it comes to camera's. Do you think we'll need – they will need an ambulance, Hetty?"

Eric's head snapped her way. "Granger will call us if they do. Or else Sam will."

"No. Miss Jones might be right. There's nothing wrong with anticipating. Have two sent over, will you, dear?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**Outside || Santa Monica Civic Auditorium**

Gibbs quietly observed his temporary female partner. "We'll have to wait for the others."

Rebecca shivered slightly and nodded. "Any idea how long it'll take them to be in here? I mean… we're ready. We could—"

"We could not, Rebel." Gibbs knew he might sound harsh. She appeared to be sharp enough, and eager too. At the same time, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. She'd told him less than an hour ago that she had been shot the night before and Gibbs had no idea how bad and in which condition she really was.  
He wanted to know "Are you armed?"

In matter of seconds, she held a knife close to his thigh. "I can work with this," Rebecca said.

He smiled politely. "Only when you come close enough. No guns?"

She shook her head. "Not in here".  
"Thought so," was all he said.

A short and nervous chuckle came his way. "You're still best at sniping? Might want to check the car trunk, Jude."

Gibbs hurried out of the car, while she followed slower. It was Henrietta Lange's car after all and as ever, Hetty kept surprising her team and many others as well. A brand new Knights SR-25 rifle lye waiting for him. He took it, slowly shaking his head.  
She now stood next to him and he noticed another shiver. "You're cold. You might want to take my jacket."  
It wasn't a question, merely a conclusion as he pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. He watched closely how she put it on. Gibbs could see how her left shoulder bothered her more than she would confess. "Now we wait."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Nearly a quarter of an hour later, the black Challenger came to a halt close to the silver Jaguar. Seconds later, both doors opened and Owen Granger came their direction first, immediately followed by Sam, who activated his earwig immediately.

He took the lead, grateful to see the seasoned agent from Washington ready to join them. Granger had told him, while driving to this address, that Gibbs and Rebecca would join them.

Sam pointed at his mic and called in. "Eric, what can you tell us?"

The answer came quick.

-"_West Patio and back side. You should divide in groups, Sam."_

"Any possibilities for a higher point for a sniper?"

_-"Not recommended. You've got three ways to enter the building from behind. Pair up. You'll meet with some smaller conference rooms and many, many dressing rooms. Lots of doors in fact,"_ Eric said. _"And I have no idea how many of the others will be around. No eyes from the inside and right now, Nell is playing the feed of the traffic camera's near the back entrance, backwards."_

"Let us know if something specific turns up," he replied. Then he addressed Gibbs. "The rifle will be useless. What else do you have?"  
The Washington senior showed two Sig Sauers, handing one of them to Rebecca. "Those will do."

"Remember we have another partner around," Granger said. "In fact, I should give him a call. And any ideas what the ETA of Blye and Deeks is?"

"Less than half a second." Deeks softly mentioned, as he and Kensi had come from another corner. "And LAPD will be joining within another five minutes. Eight more assistants, mister assistant director. And no sound around, Sir! I told them to keep the sirens off," he reported in a way only Deeks could.

Sam interrupted. "Let's pair up. Kensi, Deeks, you two take the first entry. Gibbs, can you and Becca take the third? Granger and I will take this one, once you are in position. Godspeed, all of you. Remember, it's Callen we need to get out of there." He handed Gibbs a fresh earwig. "Keep in touch. Take care."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

A shrill ring which did not seem to stop, reached his brain and then, there was the low mumbling. The Texan talked, but his weary, exhausted mind was not capable to overhear. Then it was quiet again. And dark. Of course, he had closed his eyes. Or had he not? Callen did not know.

He blinked several times and suddenly was aware of the all too familiar sound of gunshots, nearby.

There was more. That one word he used so many times, coming closer from different sides now 'Clear!'. His team, his friends.

Then two strong arms cut the plastic handcuffs and the cuffs on his ankles. He was lifted by those same two strong arms and gently put on the floor. Callen immediately felt nauseous and slowly opened his eyes, trying to wet his lips as he desperately wanted to warn Sam. His words came out as hardly more than a whisper. "He is—keep her safe. Rebel…" More severe shivers which he could not control, made him pause. "I don't think... I cannot, Sam."

"Don't you dare to close your eyes right now G, just talk. Stay around."

Sam noticed the too shallow breathing, the beads of sweat on his partner's forehead and upper lip. The combination of the pallor of Callen's skin and the dark stain on the jacket he wore, made Sam aware that his partner was sinking further in a Hypovolemic shock - which was far from good.

In a matter of a minute though, he was grateful to see EMT's coming in in a hurry. How many times had he seen his partner struggling, fighting to survive. How come this time Callen nearly begged him to take care of Rebecca?

From where he sat, Sam looked up only to see the younger woman watching the scene. She too was looking pale. Obviously, Rebecca Belgrave and G. Callen shared a past, and it was something which made her worry more than one might expect.

Sam then turned to see what the EMT's were doing, feeling helpless as they put an oxygen mask on Callen's face and quickly inserting an IV needle and listened to their talking 'Weak pulse. We'll need fluids. And blood.' Then they carried the senior agent upon a gurney to one of the ambulances. Helplessly watching and waiting, Sam saw how in the other ambulance the EMT's were treating the man he recognized as Pavlovic.

Near some of the LAPD and other parked cars, Granger stood talking to another man Sam did not recognize. However, Granger turned to the EMT's and simply told them "UCLA. It's closest. Ask for Dr. Duchesne."

Although Sam felt like joining the EMT's, he knew he shouldn't. He could follow the ambulance. "Let's go Becca, you can drive with me," he said.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, as ever!_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**~ Turn Back Time ~**

* * *

During the short ride to the hospital, both Sam and Rebecca were caught up in their own thoughts.  
"He'll pull through. He has been in situations like this before, you know," Sam said, carefully and more or less to reassure himself as well.

She flashed him a sad smile "I know."  
Her short reply surprised Sam. Once again, it proved the two of them shared a past that wasn't his. And it was true, he wanted to know more about it, but she wasn't that talkative and he did not really know how to ask about it. The only thing he kept in mind was the fact that Callen asked him to keep this female agent safe. Somehow, Callen found out who was behind of it all. And somehow, that person might still be around.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**UCLA || Los Angeles**

They had to wait for the doctor, it was the only way to find out how the lead agent was doing. When they brought him in, all the EMT's had said that the blood pressure was extremely low at a 60/35 and that dehydration was part of the cause. There were stabbing wounds which were meant to cause blood loss.

At that moment, the others of his team had not arrived yet. It was then when Rebecca softly told Sam "I think Callen knows who was behind this."

"How's that?" he asked.

"He told me someone found out some old aliases. Mine. His, and Gibbs'. And I think—perhaps it weren't the Serbians after all, Sam."

"So… the three of you worked together, in Serbia?"  
Sam quietly observed her. Her hair, light brown now and kept in a ponytail, fit better with the freckles and her odd, grey eyes, that stood out in her pale face right now. The way she looked right now was like an innocent college girl again.  
It had been several years ago that Callen had told Sam about the operation in Serbia. He reckoned it was when Gibbs had been around in Los Angeles, only shortly before Callen got shot on that hot day in Venice, on May 5.  
The black op must have been about ten years ago by now and Sam was really curious to what her role really had been. Rebecca had been longer in the field than for instance Deeks and Sam had seen her change her stance and change her looks in matter of minutes. It reminded him of his partner himself – there was a slight feeling of mystery being around with her, as if there were so many things one could share with Rebecca. Still, she might not let other people get too close.

She slightly stretched, tired and shivering and faint from the earlier continuous action and tension. Maybe she should have someone look at the wound in her upper arm, or perhaps she just needed some painkillers. It bothered her more than she would admit. Right now, when the level of adrenaline had definitely lowered Rebecca felt weak and shaky indeed.

"You look like you could use some sleep," he gently said.

"Yes". She shrugged on the jacket she wore.

Not hers, Sam suddenly realized. It was one of the standard NCIS issued jackets, which he had seen the San Diego and Washington teams wearing too. So it must be Gibbs'. "By the way, where did Gibbs go?"

"He left with those other co-workers of yours, I believe to pick up Mrs. Lange."

Sam smiled wisely. Of course Hetty could drive this way herself and hell, she would, like she always had done when it came to one of her team. Nevertheless, if Gibbs would get her this way it was okay.

"You know what, I need something to eat and drink. Can I get you something too?"

"Yeah. I probably should eat something," she said. "Some hot coffee would do. And I'd die for something with chocolate," she added.

"Stick around, Becca. If anything changes, if Duchesne comes with some news, give me a call you, okay? You still have that phone Callen handed you?"

She only nodded.

"Alright then. The others should be in here any moment now."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles – minutes earlier**

"Sam said Callen will be alright, Eric. The wounds will heal soon enough and they put him on fluids and let some fresh blood run in, so the blood pressure will rise. He'll be up and around before you know it."

Eric nodded and sighed deeply. "How do they do this Nell? I mean, how do they go on and on. They get shot at, get shot, they're being tortured, seeing those awful things happening. And again they go on... As if nothing happened."  
He shuddered, hardly knowing himself how to cope with the stress of finding one or more of the team in time or just too late. The stress of waiting until a call from the hospital would come, telling all was alright. "One day the call comes... I'm not sure I can handle that Nell," he confessed.

"You can, Eric. And you have to." She concentrated on her files again.

Eric looked at her, sheepish. "You're not going to the hospital then?" he asked.

His partner at the Ops center didn't even look up as she answered "Not yet. All I know from what Kensi let us know is that she shot that guy called Pavlovic. Still I don't believe he was in there alone. Remember he came into the country with someone else."

She kept reading until she asked "It is odd, don't you think, that Granger had to come from Russia to get her out of the country, back then. I mean… they were CIA. Every contact has a handler, so she should have had one too."

"True. You found anything about it?"

"Uh-huh." Her loose, red hair shook with her head as she kept reading. Another long minute and nothing happened.

Then there was the sharp inhale of breath as Nell figured it all out and her fingers were shaky when she dialed the number she knew by heart.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

**UCLA || Los Angeles**

Rebecca leaned back in the hideous orange couch in the waiting room, allowing herself to relax just a little. The coffee might do her good . According to Sam, this part of the hospital was the secured part, meant for VIP's or other people who should be kept from public. Other people, like him, like federal agents.

She closed her eyes, thinking of all the things she had wanted to tell him, tell Geca, agent G. Callen. In fact she never expected to find him, although she never stopped looking for him. They hardly had a chance to do so and she prayed he would recover soon.

"Miss?"

The sound of a female nurse made her open her eyes.  
"The doctor told me you could wait in that room 0-19, Miss". She gestured to one of the rooms opposite of the waiting area.

"Will the patient be in there already?" Rebecca asked, not able to reveal her surprise.

The nurse shook her head. "Not yet. But you can wait in there."

"That's great. I'll call a friend to tell him, he'll be happy to know too." She took the phone and dialed Sam's number. The busy tone was not what she expected to hear, but she could retry, later.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Let Granger know." Sam nearly snapped as he was about to rush up the three stairs to get where he should be. Like he had promised his partner.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She entered the room, noticing how a man, probably a nurse, made the bed ready for a patient to stay in.

Then the man turned around, facing her and although her knees weakened, her charcoal eyes widened in shock as she saw who he was.

* * *

_A/N Indeed, this is a very short chapter. However, I d hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your ideas as to what will happen now!_


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